She likes poetry

I could sense it
in her dream-filled eyes
as I devised
the next rhythm
of each line
It was a feeling Divine.

In her mocha-colored pupils
I could see stanzas by Sanchez
I could feel the force and fire
of an Amiri Baraka syllable, SO lyrical.

She likes poetry

The kind of poetry
you can taste on your tongue.

The kind of poetry
that leaves you numb
after reading just a line or two.
Blue Jazz poetry.

Poetry that roars LOUD.

Poetry that makes Poets proud.

She likes poetry
Is what she told me
over tea and talk.

Told me she loved the way
my poems stalked her in her dreams
Loved that my poems made her seem
as is if she were (just) vacationing in Vienna
sipping on lime dakaris
under the loveliest of trees
feeling the softness of a breeze.

She likes poetry

Rumi
Gibran
Poe
and Elliot.

Maya, Neruda, Madubhuti, and Langston.

She called me Mr. Word Smith
as she told me about this undying love.

She told me
she even liked poetry
just because.

She likes poetry