In The Sheets

Lay my body down in sheets of white

Lined with blue stripes

Under covers of gray words

The likes of which no one has ever heard

And touch me                                                         

And let me touch you

But you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll keep my hands by my side

Because hands can only touch the surface, and I’m tryna delve deep inside

Until I find your composition

Your words like apparitions, appear to be visions

Eyes closed and ears open

And in that moment

I’m too far to reach you, but I can grasp your concept

And to be honest

I’ve never felt so close to you

Like your miles away but the ghost of you

Is lips pressed against my ear whispering

Shhhh… are you listening?

It sounds like…. It sounds like poetry

It sounds like every word you’ve ever said to me

Echoing against my ear drums

It sounds like freedom

It sounds like a deep breath

Saying “give me poetry or give me death”

I swear before I ever spoke a word

I was destined to do spoken word

It’s the one thing that makes sense to me

It engulfs up all my sensory

And then there’s you… poetry in human form

A strong, raging beautiful storm

Kiss me, I want to find out if your words are contagious

I wanna write your story on these notebook pages

And if you should tell me your secrets

I’ll write them down and read them

Over and over until I know them by heart

And then tear that little piece of paper apart

So no one else will ever see

I t can just be you and me

Touch me with your thoughts

They say two cents is the cost

But yours are nothing short of priceless

If they think they’re a problem then you must be a crisis

My first vice is poetry, but you can be my next one

See, she’s my right hand, but you can be my left one

The one I hold the mic with

Hold it with a tight grip

And give it just a light kiss

To bless the audiences

Yes, we’ll make love in the sheets

Nah, ya’ll not listening… we’ll make love in the sheets

Conceiving ideas to be held in the womb of my brain

Fed food for thought and eventually developing into spoken words

You are now witnessing… birth

Her name will be something poetic

Something we haven’t quite thought of yet

Her life will tell a story

Of all the poets before me

And you, she will be written in my words and spoken through your voice

So that there will be no other choice

But to listen, and she will be beautiful

Her truth indisputable

She will be the reason I live

And the finished product of the last thing that I’ll ever give

Cause one day I’ll stop writing… yeah, one day I’ll write my last line

And that’ll be about two seconds before I flat line