tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794436.post-899409662003-02-28T21:23:00.000-08:002003-02-28T21:23:18.780-08:00 <br /> <br />the moment that we swallow <br />is a moment where we don't breathe <br />why was i holding my breath when she swallowed? <br />like the movement of her adam's apple rising and fallingg was a joint effort <br />i have no words for her in yoruba <br />but i want her to make it through these moments that i stare at her <br />wondering why my life just began now <br />with her being so close to her end <br />holding her hand <br />soft like melted chocolate <br />knowing that no matter how hard i held it <br />tight enough to make my presence known <br />i would still have to let go <br />a forced smile <br />heart pounding like drums <br />in a circle <br />on the discovery channel <br />chanting songs of african <br />yes <br />of this yoruba woman <br />no <br />of my american location <br />no glory to the red, white, and blue <br />just sadness for years of trying to forget <br />so i would never have to refer to a memory of red eyes <br />my shirt soaked <br />my hands glisteing <br />with everything I could not say but felt for that night <br />and that night <br />that night when i saw that everything everyone else needed <br />i needed too <br />i knew that when i looked in her eyes <br />and saw who i never knew that i was <br />saw that she is who i was coming to <br />and i was who she was leaving <br />(2/23/03)trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16201937022829037480noreply@blogger.com