I
I talk
To death in dreams.
He is beautiful, wild and free,
Dark and green,
Cloak of shadows
That ebb and flow,
Passion that
Burns like black blue coals
In his eyes.
He is
Intensity.
He is
Like a long lost lover in his caress.
Death is not peace,
He is the actualization
Of the soul’s passions and desires, and
Aspirations
Of which he has gifted
Me a taste in life.
I regret not, sending
My brother to his keep.

II
Baby, baby,
I should be reading
For class not thinking
Of you.