Poem 8

The open book of Marlou Le Cool – you know – I spit line for lines – sometimes even some subtle dancing – two stepping into my random thoughts…

I keep advancing forward but her mind – she’s lost in the world of scented candles – so far the light reflects motion of an urban romance.

The subliminal signs – naw I talking intimate bilingual grind – I’m reading her body lingo – she’s wants to be communicated – If not now but then later when I’ve graduated.

Her box needs the number nine and a glass of wine – we both loves love – lasting 69 – like it’s the pro era – I mean the last time since forever – whenever – never.

That’s deep – figured I walk against the traffic of fears then pull hair until her invisible moans reappear – I repeat she’s often tense.

Disappearing like the moon does XO – moreover – cum again – you channel my name Douglas – but love I’d rather be called King Marlou…

I’m royalty from Bethany Street around the corner from Veteran’s Memorial – that’s the north side of thangs and my state of mind.

Hence the lost culture – a forgiven gem – like steady Eddie Eddie – Eddie rocks. I remember – I still can hear the sounds of train in my dreams – sonically beautifully ugly… It just the random thoughts of a poet…

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