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Malik Nottage Poem
Even when we grow old
hair the color of tombstones
and bones that sound like
wet windshield wipers as
we slow dance across the living room
i will still make love to you.
Like it is our last night on this
earth.
when our love fills the air like
blunt smoke from the joints
we rolled our first night
And that night we didn't just
make love, we made life.
life wasn't too much worth living
until i peered into the the eyes
of my first born child
and i thought wow.
i will add this to the list of
things in this world i find
most beautiful:
my mother's smile, the eyes of our
child, you on our wedding night.
and that night was glorious
so we danced... like it was our last
lasting as long as the music before
it dies but our love never will.
so when we grow old, hair the
color of tombstones, bones
that sound like wet windshield
wipers whenever we slow dance
across the living room, i will
still love you like it is our
last night on this earth and
when our millions of children
roam the earth, when the dust from
our bones are gone
and our names forgotten,
Ill be glad knowing it was our last.
Copyright © Malik Nottage | Year Posted 2020
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Malik Nottage Poem
Had you not inspired such
a flame deep and bellowing
in the cavity of my chest
where my heart used to be
i'd be not but a shell
A beautiful, soulless
corpse condemned to walk
this earth for an eternity
ready to deafen and destroy
with eternal noise
that signifies nothing
i can only add my desire
of forever being yours
make me as happy
as i can be.
Only then can I be saved
from damnation and my
soul set free.
Looking at you there from
above the clouds,
my under oxygenated hands
turn pale blue,
never has anything in
all of history looked
more beautiful than you
do in this moment.
for your smile is so breathtaking
You would wonder why anyone
ever lived in the first place
Inert with heavy slumber, i
wondered if i was ever awake
at all. was it a dream i loved?
Copyright © Malik Nottage | Year Posted 2019
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Malik Nottage Poem
I love to watch the sun rise,
the way its tangerine colored
rays pierce the
metallic grey sky and
how they dance playfully on
the waters edge. As its face peers
Out from its hiding spot
It reminds me of everything
Beautiful I’ve ever known, like
My mother’s smile, infants
Being born, like fresh ink
On a piece of paper.
Words have not been invented yet
To describe the sight of
Sunrise.
One has not truly lived
Until having heard the
sound of violins
Something so sweet and
Seductive has no
Business being compared
To anything less beautiful
If all the emotions in the
World were an instrument
It would be a violin
Nothing graces my eardrums
And the atmosphere
Like the peaceful, poetic whisper
Of a violin
I love the smell of love in
The morning. I didn’t know love
Had a smell but then again
Who really knows what love is
What it looks like
Sounds like
Smells like
Tastes like or feels like.
Love smells like when
We make love, it’s like a Picasso
Being made, I can smell the
Fresh paint on the canvas
It’s literally poetry in motion
Her breath is endless as her spoken word
Coerces me to do things I know
I want to.
Her scent is so intoxicating
And from that day forth my nostrils
Could no longer recognize anything
Else.
If nothing else is heaven-sent it
will always be the taste of chocolate
It’s decadence needs no
Compliment. The taste reminds
Me of every women Ive ever loved
Good and bad for me at
The same time. The moment
My tongue became acquainted
With this piece of heaven
It’s like it became me
It didn’t melt in my mouth it transformed
Into the shape of it and has never
Left since
The best feeling in the world
Is the feeling of bare skin
Against the bed sheets the morning
After we made love.
And we made love like the world
was ending so we hold
one another
Like we died in each other’s
Arms the night before
And nothing else mattered
but this feeling
In this moment in time
And I never wanted to leave
So I stayed there kissing your
Forehead, you taking my
Hand in yours as if it were
The last thing you’d ever touch
Even when our bones become
Playthings of the wind
I hope that a museum will
Keep a fossil of our figure
So that others may enjoy this
Moment in time forever.
Copyright © Malik Nottage | Year Posted 2018
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Malik Nottage Poem
Excuses
I’ve never made love before
But sex is no stranger to me.
It is no stranger than my
Own two hands are to each
Other. Each has a warm
Twin that fits perfectly like
The pieces of a puzzle,
So no I am no stranger to slow
Dances and love songs
red wine and candlesticks
Moonlit love poems
And the morning after when
My lips cuddle your forehead
As if we died in each others
Arms 12 hours prior.
Most would say
That’s the epitome of love
But love has no true face it hides
Behind disgraceful lies and hides
In the scent of your wine and
Hides in the joy of having a
Good time for a one time only
One night stand and most nights
I stand alone so no, I am no stranger
To sharing half a bed with a stranger
But love and I have yet to be
Introduced. It is still so unfamiliar
To me but I know what it
pretends to be.
It pretends to see me for who
I am
Not what I appear to be
Pretends to feed me and nourish
Me with lies
So excuse me if I’m fed up
Excuse me if I’m full of
Regret because love
Is full of you know what
Excuse me if I’m tired of writing
Long handed love letters that
End up going nowhere as fast
As they began. And excuse me
If I’m sick and tired of excuses.
There is no excuse why I still
Haven’t found the meaning
Of love
There is no excuse why I search
For it daily in the arms of
Every stranger I come across
But for once, just once, a
Good excuse would be nice.
Copyright © Malik Nottage | Year Posted 2018
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Malik Nottage Poem
Dream Girl
She comes to me by night
As dreams
In the day as memories
She haunts my hours
every where I go, everywhere
I see her.
I remember the way speech
Trembled adorably off her
lips
The way her heart was a
Bottomless pit because
Her love was everlasting
And her eyes
Her eyes were so deep baby blue
That you'd be afraid to stare
Because you might get lost and
Never come out. As deep as the
Ocean. As deep as the drowning
Sensation of her love.
And her smile
Her smile of gold would make
The richest men envious.
Could make the sun go blind
Would make the sun be afraid
To shine.
So much that it would
Refuse to show its face. Her beauty shines through my clothes, my skin
My soul, my sins God, I hope this dream and this poem never ends talking about a girl that I could never get.
She teaches stars to be bright.
She teaches me how to fight
She is why I write, why I stay up at night
Why I can't go to sleep because
I'm too busy chasing her, my dreams.
I can't eat, sleep or breathe. Nor can I believe that this is only a dream.
Copyright © Malik Nottage | Year Posted 2018
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Malik Nottage Poem
So much depends on a red umbrella
the metallic grey skies
that open up and cry so they
become waterfalls.
Your feet stay dry, yet you notice
the the streets turn to streams,
but you stay safe under your
little piece of refuge...
So much depends on
the tiny wishing well-like
puddles forming on the sidewalk
transforming into pools
Everything becomes the color of
sadness, sky moans and groans.
sounds like a stomach ache
maybe something he ate
I hate the rain, but none of that
matters because of this tiny
umbrella
So much of me depends on this
small, blush-colored of a
thing that provides an
intangible feeling of warmth and
protection
So much depends on a red umbrella.
Copyright © Malik Nottage | Year Posted 2018
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Malik Nottage Poem
Love is like poetry,
It’s mysterious and beautiful
And you never know
Whats going on in the
Piece unless you are
The author.
Unless you’re the one
In love
Crystal-eyed and young
Unless you’re the one
That hears trumpets
And symphonies every time
She walks through the
Front door
And whenever she talks about
Her day, you’re more
Interested then she is
And before you go to bed
After you’ve written her
A soppy long-handed love letter
About how you couldn’t
Fathom imagining a world
Without her, you ask to hear
About her day one more time.
Then you fall asleep to the
Sound of her breath.
Love is poetry. It’s full of
Metaphors and misunderstandings
And long-handed love letters
But you listen to it anyway
Because it sounds nice.
Copyright © Malik Nottage | Year Posted 2019
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