UNWRITTEN

I want to write you a poem, but
Damn, I can't find a freakin' pen!

So I take a long, hard look at the paper,
Concentrating real hard on its blank-ness...

And, there, out of the senseless papery void,
Appear your naked body:

Sinewy, corporeal bundle of muscles;
Biceps bursting boastfully...

And I become Michelangelo working on marble,
My chisel bringing my David to life;

And I run my fingers along the contours of your thigh
('Til I reach that spot in the middle where virgins dare not look...)

And you become flesh and blood
At the command of my caress;

And I, your creator, want you possess you consume you...
'Til I could want you no further

And I go back to staring at this dreadful blank-ness of the paper,
Not minding anymore that I don't have a pen...

Just because I don't have a freakin' pen
Doesn't mean I can't make you a poem.

-Suri Nahunte

illumination

What if the night sky was as dark

as dark as the snow white floor

And what if the stars twinkled brightly

as brightly as a bog in a moor

And what if the moon didn't reflect

but instead absorbed all light

And what if this is how we perceive:

night as a very bright light.