Unwritten Conversations

He told me to write a poem About beauty, wind blowing Hair tossing , dream making stunning Gorgeousness of living Beauty addicts and blind ambitions Movie stars and historical happenings Formal dresses, women in high heels with Faces meant to smile That’s what poems should be about, he says, Your good at that kind of thing, just spit it out “Shawty, write a poem about beauty, that’s real poetry” “Everything is beautiful, baby…” “But what is beautiful to you?” Beautiful. Births and rebirths Phoenix Red celestial torching of the hearts Interlocking fingers in twilight Kisses, Death, sorrow, crocodile tears Laughter, Ecstasy , black White, brown, yellow, silver crimson Skin on skin, chest to chest, on and on, soft Hard City light heaving, breathing against the Ebony sky Natural Twinkle of diamond shadows, Cosmos, Atoms, Hydrogen bonds, Electrons Nucleus, matter, anti-matter Smash together, slither mutually To create harmony. Everything. Everything is beautiful. “Just write about that then..” "Not everything has to be written, somtimes you just have to live it out.." "What's the point then?? What's the point of writing about butterflies and waterfalls? I just don't see it? Why do you have to doll everything up and make it more then what it is? Not everything has to be picked apart and analyzed." "Mmm, I suppose." "What's real poetry to you?" "Everything..." "I don't understand." I recline and rest my head on his chest Tracing lines of thought on the ceiling Helping him dismantle the universe and put it back together In his own way Enjoying lyrical symphonies of life Breath by breath… Together Silent "This, baby, This is real Poetry.."