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A stone when struck resists,
Such a life.

Sweet and in melodic
Chirp

On a windy white
Afternoon

Both Heart,
And soul.

A drink
Since ten Am.

Two lines
Little sense.

Sunday
Nothing.

Also, from first year of university...

Wandering around this city looking for
someone who looks like her,
Clenching something in his hand
which he keeps buried in a deep pocket.

She visited,
there was that exchange of glances,
they grabbed drinks with
slippery fingers and played
games no one could see.

A man is weak when a woman touches his face.

They fucked and were angry,
Pulling each other’s hair and
Biting with the intention of breaking skin.

When it was all over,
she cried,
She still had a man waiting.
This isn’t what she had planned,
Though she’d suggested the drinks.

Candid infatuation,
They’d worn rings since before
They even knew each others names.

She looked like she could spit
Fire in a man’s face.

Intrigue can be misleading,
And sometimes they look
Like they’d be interesting.

Most times they can’t even spell.

Falling in love with every thing you fuck
Because you’re lonely,
And necessarily detached,
In the morning there's dread and
Most times her smell is poison.

Holding hands while having sex
Is some people’s idea of passion.

There needs to be anger
Before the city can burn.