Glass Jar

Warm Kingston winds
Bring sugar cane sounds
Into my bedroom.
They strum the beat
Of his heart
Against my eardrums
So I may hear the peace of God
In his chest
As he sleeps.

A butterfly’s wings
Envelope the essence
Of each blink and stride,
Sending echoes of motion
That transform his movements
Into a fingerprinted force
Of air against my skin,
Turning a warm breeze
Into an invisible embrace.

A strong dose of dark rum
poured into the most beautiful mold of a man
with glitter in his smile
and gold in his eyes.
enthralled by it all,
I tried to catch it in a jar:
the beauty of his noise,
his touch, his scent
but the echoes of his voice,
pressure of his fingerprints,
the beats of his heart
all broke the glass
and the love I was collecting
went as quickly as it came…
fading into the wind
like the spirits of love past.


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