Sparkles In A Storm

wanted to feel his eyes on me
all over me crawling, tickling
all over me, raping me
his eyes on me, enough for me
though it is he who feasts
it is what I enjoy
it is I who enjoy
when he nibbles me all over
like hundreds of tiny fishes
feeding upon something
or someone in the sea


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:46 p.m. 31/10/07

Love Study
of Frederica

what acceptance of herself
as big as she is, what sure steps
so sure of herself
in spite of her size

she does not seem to think
she’s overweight
that her stomach’s too big

she makes her steps
she swings her arms
go out, go home
whether her journey’s short or long

knows how to walk
upon this ball, this earth
however fast it’s spinning,
turning as she crosses

what balance she has
though earth goes round and round
something round about her also
so well balanced

I watch her
student of physics that I am
student of beauty that’s tied to Africa

to me tied as well
with poem after poem
I’ve stitched us like an outfit
one I wish us to hang up

I want to see her naked
want us to be naked

an evening for us to put our arms
and legs through


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:30 p.m. 30/10/07

On Earth

who lays fruits
like birds we know
lay eggs


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:38 p.m. 20/10/07

Holiday End
for Keith Russell

though it might take a while,
checking out of this hotel
my body is, out of this life I’m living
noon is fast approaching
I know I must go, I must leave
even extensions allowed are limited
when that hour arrives
I must have my bags packed
luggage waiting when chariot
swings low to carry me home


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:44 p.m. 29/10/07

Art No Hands
for Fred D’Aguiar

poetry, another body function
like every other art
instead of done with hands
must be accomplished
by the body’s automatic muscles
like those responsible for digestion,
urine, feces
sweating, menstruation,
lungs breathing, heart beating
process of reproduction
between conception and giving birth
all occurring without our control
without our being able
to hold the strings
or pull the strings of these processes
bodily functions which are for me,
most like making or participating
in poetry
are salivation and ejaculation
poetry similarly overflowing,
triggered off
by some unbearable sensation
and out oozes poetry
not unlike sweat, springing, surfacing
pores all over us to ooze out of
art results from a way of life
the mist is the excess
the distilation process
like odors sweet or sour or otherwise
not unlike the smell of cherries, dillies
hog plums
or cabbages or tomatoes rotting


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:01 a.m. 30/10/07

We must know that God is dear, is there, is here, is near. We are what we have as well as what we want. For being is what we must be grateful for, for what we must thank God. Is our presence here haphazard, by chance or have we resulted from God will, his love. Are we among the most precious, indispensable parts of his design? It is not by our will that we are here. Our will could not have gotten us here nor is our will enough to keep us here. Nor can being desperate about tomorrow keep us here or keep us well. It is love which designed us, which desires that we exist, that we achieve our purpose and that we excel. Our job is to be, instead of always worried, without end grateful for the gift of life, of breath, for family, for friends, for community – ours as well as the whole wide world. Why do we worry so and fear so as long as we’ve been kept, still imagining that we’ve come this far, that we’ve lived this long [since Adam] by chance rather than protected by the almighty hand which shaped, which ordered the universe. We are believers in chaos rather than in order, in violence rather than in peace. Sick with fear of dying, fear of hunger, fear of poverty, fear of disaster – upon the earth trembling as if in a crowd upon a pin head, hungry, trembling, cold – waiting as if to fall off any minute. Though we are on solid rock, we live as if we were on a rocky sea, on a rocky boat, about to fall off, about to go under. How sure are we of God – his goodness, his greatness, his love? Do we believe in these – in God’s existence? Do we accept that anything, that anyone that might rise against us has been overcome even before the earth was formed? Whose side are we on: the love of God or on the side of the enemy? Are we our own worst enemy? Do we believe in love and victory or doubt and defeat? Instead of giving in to fear and chaos, let us stop and give thanks for feet and hands, for teeth and toes, fingers, elbows, knees, toenails, fingernails, eyes, ears, nose, skin, bones, palms of our hands, soles of our feet, legs, arms and for all the challenges we face knowing we have what is needed to withstand as well as to overcome whatever comes against us: sickness, death, whatever test. Mankind has survived until now and will go on and will not go under with so much to sing about, make hymns about. We need to learn to be grateful not only for the best days, not only for the best things, not only for our best friends but for our worst days, for our worst enemies as even these are given in love, with love and by love. Love knows better than we ourselves what is best for us. Too much pride is crushing us – is like a curse upon us – preventing us from knowing God as we should. Pride is like poison in us, making us forever unwell. Pride is a wall between our neighbor, our God and ourselves. We need to open ourselves to receive the love of God via whomever it is sent with thanksgiving forever on our breath. Instead of thankfulness, with grateful hearts, we wants pockets and purses full of money as if it were possible to purchase life, to purchase love, to purchase happiness. We want money so we’d not need to say thanks. But life is a gift and love is a gift, as free to us as air. We do not say thanks enough. We are not thankful enough for what’s greatest in this life – for what cannot be purchased. To appreciate eternal life it is necessary to appreciate and to be grateful for life on earth. Life, itself a blessing, is so very filled with so many blessings. Too often though, we’re busy hogging up life without blessing it – as if it were not blessed as if it were not precious. Everybody, give thanks, be grateful. Whoever you are, you’re part of the holy family of man. Wherever you are, wherever you stand, the ground you’re on is holy ground. To have a grateful heart is to be forever grateful. With grateful hearts we unveil what is imagined to be ordinary. Who has a grateful heart beholds the divine – always, everywhere and in everyone.

By Obediah Michael Smith as requested by Lennor Munroe. November 29, 2006 10:08 p.m.

Weeping Like Laughter
for Stan and Dennie

thought he was being insensitive,
chuckling while I read

instead it was I,
insensitive to a man in tears


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
7:36 p.m. 29/oct/06

Doolittle

little more to add, to give my children

I gave them genes, no gifts for Christmas,
for birthdays, for Easter

I gave them brains and lungs to breathe
I gave them the blood in their veins
to make the most of


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2003
08/may/03

Art Has Hands Eyes Its Own
for Robert West

I thought all he was, was an awful poet
had no idea that even while he read
what disappointed so
he photographed so well
look through, look back
to find, that even while
I detested what he read
he was registering wonderfully,
resonating as it were
upon the camera’s eye
when its shutter opened and closed
when it clicked open, snapped shut
camera loving him all while I hated him
no one it seems
is good for nothing


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
9:37 p.m. 28/10/07

Adhere To Hitch a Ride
of L.M.M.

ow ow ow, in response
to prickles sticking her
having gone across my yard
prickles through her stockings
causing some discomfort
causing some pain
when they went in, when she,
with care,
attempted to removed them
ow ow ow
what happen, I asked
prickles, she said
familiar with her complaining
pleasure mixes with pain
when I enter--big prickle
to prick her with, intimate,
up against her, able to sense
every twitch, able to hear every noise
know how she is when it comes to pain
however small
wasn’t there when she gave birth
to baby girls
she must have raised the roof of the Rand
ow-ing for prickles
as delicate as if she were just-born
so very pretty when in pain,
when she complains


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:40 p.m. 28/10/07

My Own Horn In Hand
To Join The Band

lucky are we or are we blessed
Kemp Road people
sometime in the 90s
got Christmas lights
additionally, we have poetry,
a poet in the mix
amid what too many imagine
is one big negative
treatment even for sewerage
what’s liquid, what’s solid
to make use of


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:54 p.m. 27/10/07


Calculating With Fractions

way she walks, as if she owned the planet
and she does, she walks as if she knows it
way she walks, she claims it
desire to connect with one with eyes open
noise makers, with music in vehicles booming
own less than these vehicles,
less than the music they abuse us with
assume these gadgets are what they own,
all their own
unaware that all the world is theirs
to cherish


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:19 p.m. 27/10/07

On My Nerve

like a hundred million
annoying mosquitoes, rolled into one
buzzing round your ear
when you are craving tranquility,
peace, sleep
when vehicles with their noises
pull up, go by
go through your head
go through your life
like a mad dentist,
drilling through nerves


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:57 p.m. 26/10/07

Roses & Romance

unfortunately she hasn't the intellect
to drink from my high pool
she said she never went to high school
she never tried, it seems
to get their on her own

often times satisfied to come on
to come off like a buffoon
my dick, she wants, in a diamond ring


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
9:09 p.m. 20/07/07

Scissors Tail

should we attempt to tailor the Holy Spirit,
attire him in suit and tie, a nice dress, hat with brim

or the spirit itself, the material we cut into
should we tailor the Holy Spirit
or should we all, possessed by the Holy Spirit,
pitch up and down, lick ourselves about, drown

what should I wear or should I go about bare

wild or tame, distilled water or a fire which burns
what should the Holy Spirit wear


© Obediah Michael Smith, 1998
9:35 a.m. 24/04/98

Moaning Down Kemp Road

Moaning Down Kemp Road
for C.B.

could hardly support herself
her grief so great, her legs so weak
moaning aloud as she passed
moaning down Kemp Road
she’d have fallen
were it not for who walked with her,
a shoulder to lean on, or who joined her,
an arm about her waist
her son died today
you knew it was death, had no details
heard later, a motor cycle crashed
it was her son, died on the spot
unable to live with broken ribs
a broken neck
young mother wept and wept
in sharp contrast
to her passing, cussing
in skimpiest outfits
one late late night she went by
f the party she did not support
f them, she cursed loudly
upper body stripped down to white bra
bra as white as the night was dark
barking out cuss words
after midnight, after elections
her party lost...she lost her son today
she wept, would not be,
could not be consoled
a mile or more to walk to where,
son she loved, crashed his motor bike
popped his neck
popping most likely on a wet street
it rained today
sweets can kill us, proved that today,
joy-riding to Jericho
unable to joy-ride back


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:31 p.m. 25/10/07

Weep Weak
for A.A.

let me look her up
and down, lick her up
and down with my eyelashes
lashes like paint brushes
map her out from head to toe
make a copy for safekeeping
to keep where, keep when
I must journey without her nearby
without her to fill my eyes
like tears


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:16 a.m. 25/10/07

Ink In A Pen
for L.M.M.

thought you had
no time to spare,
to spend like this
with a poet and his pen

three pals instead of two

you and me
and ink and words


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:33 p.m. 11/01/07

Vase Days Ways

you’ve always amazed me
from day one
fascinated ever since
in love with you from then

I must by now have hours of you
stored away in my senses
as well as in poems

I always run
to one window or another
when I see you
when you’re passing
until you pass away
until you pass out of my vision
out of my view

my poems are my rare view
as well as my rear-view mirrors
I look back through
when I don’t or can’t have you
passing like fresh flowers
in the vases of my senses


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:14 p.m. 23/10/07

Does This Pass
The So What Test
for Mervyn Morris

where does she think
poetry comes from

she makes poems, she must know
they do not come forth like piss

you must come them
a poem has to be thick
not just milk, it has to be milkshake

when I was a student
at Pyfrom Secondary School
I use to detour to the Milk Stand
on the way home

milkshake’s made
not just from milk
it’s also ice cream
even though I was a boy still
just in my teens, I always insisted
they add two eggs

what does she think a poem is
unable just to piss them forth
you must live them
must die to write them

what tribe is it which mixes
hot blood, let from animals,
living still, with milk, for warriors

poetry is like this, it has to be thick
not just piss up against a wall

instead of for praying,
for waling, for tears,
for whoever passes to piss up against

stench so high
you could smell it in heaven

what does she think poetry is
something a drunk
stops beside the road
to relieve himself of


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:51 p.m. 23/10/07

Tomatoes of
the Alphabet
for Dickson & Patrice

unable to go around
with dick up in you all day
but with o.b.
this is entirely possible


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:51 p.m. 23/10/07

Room To Grow
for J.S.

she has her own
narrow mind to sleep in
like a narrow bed
maybe she’d fall
onto the floor
into enlightenment
into its flawlessness


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:37 a.m. 24/10/07

Unable to Tame Time
for every student who ever attended
8 Mile Rock High School

out of my life and gone
she’s disappeared completely,
she disappeared abruptly

not even her name left
on register, in memory

unable to remember who she was
what I remember, haunted by since

imagine this happening with,
happening in a seventh grade

the top stream, she at the top of it
quite a bit above her classmates
intellectually as well as
taller by far than most of them,
boys as well as girls

as if she’d walk through me, go through me
to get to me, to talk to me

tall as me, an inch away, face to face,
way within my personal space

I wanted her there always
she went as far away as she’d been close,
for one heart-beating, heart-licking,
clock-ticking minute

what she said to me, I’m unable to recall
that minute though,
middle of the class, middle of the lesson,
as charged as any minute I have ever known,
have ever lived,
including or since conception


© Obediah Michael smith, 2007
4:14 a.m. 29/09/07

Soup Pot Spoon

I look, I let her stir
whatever she’s able
whatever she’s willing
to stir up in a man
in a poet with
a pen in hand


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:50 p.m. 23/10/07

Wife To Be

what is your name
I should have asked
though she was way across the road

mouthing these four words
clearly enough
for her to read my lips

if she responded, “Why?”
I could have answered,
I want to order another you
from heaven

I notice you have a child,
I assume you have a family
I need to order another copy
just like you, I like you

when she comes I’ll marry


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:10 a.m. 23/10/07

Touching You
Touching Me

how wild was that sperm cell
which whipped her into being
out swam thousands
in the lead ever since
in the company of attractive females
it is she who touches
who clutches my heart
bounces it like a ball
it’s been booming, beating quickly
ever since


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:39 p.m. 21/10/07

Out of Words

inconvenient to look
to drink until drunk
inconvenient because
of the company I was in
haunted ever since to see her again
I had glimpses, snatches, insufficient
sweet tooth to satisfy, aching ever since
like a caged creature stirring
pacing, turning, like a tiger, burning
what she ignited in me
to unheard music, swaying
in blue-jeans skirt
short about her thighs
in black-dark skin
rough-dark loveliness
just the texture for me,
mother-made meals
potato bread, tarts,
coconut cakes, dillies
not the ice cream sundaes
MacDonald’s sells
she is no fast food
she is time’s own
made from scratch
without shortcut


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:44 p.m. 21/10/07


Our Eyes Meet

how her gestures
are all so complete
stretched to a point
just short of popping
just short of breaking
like waves
up against a rocky shore
blood in my heart
splashes similarly
when I see her
I make myself as still as can be
as still as I can
as long as she’s available to view
as long as she’s in view
then I reflect upon
what’s left in mind’s eye
in my mind’s eye
I see what’s projected
upon my mind-screen


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:48 p.m. 21/10/07

Step Up or Step Down
for L.M.M.

too timid to step forth,
she steps back

one thing when
her stepping back
subtracts from her
when it is subtraction
from us combined,
it is unaffordable then

when my days
as well as my steps are numbered
when every step gained,
matters so much

to have her undo what I’ve done
unmake what I’ve made
un-pay what I’ve paid
is nothing short of unforgivable


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:26 a.m. 21/10/07

Ready or Not
for Crystal Fraser & Tanya Shirley

my heart gets just as heavy
anticipating good news
as it does anticipating bad

my fear, will it be too much rain
or too much sunshine
have I the capacity
for one or for the other

will it overwhelm me
will it fill, will it overturn my cup
will it leave me flustered,
will it expose me
for the awful pretender that I am

to find I have a million bucks
or to find I’m broke
with debtors beating down my door,
calling me names
loud enough for neighbors
for passers-by to hear

will it be more rain or more sunshine
than I can bear
will I be swept away by bad fortune
or success, so-called

will I know myself no more
will I no longer be allowed
my same address

losing my house, just as bad
as no longer being able
to find my way home

like Eliza Doolittle’s dad,
assisted by professor Higgins
transformed from being a beggar
to being a man in suit with significance,
with attention shone upon him

like Eliza Doolittle herself,
in weeks, gone from being a flower girl
to wanting to dance all night

transition away from where
and from what
we’ve grown used to being
in one direction or another
or in any direction outward or inward

might be equally disconcerting
might require new clothes
out of your climate
needing to wear foreign fur
or needing to strip naked


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:20 p.m. 20/09/07

State I’m In
With Whom United
for Sonia Farmer

i.
is what I’m doing adding up
who I am, how I am
are these paying off

such imbalance between
on the one hand
what I am busy with,
what I labor with
and what I get for these, for it

such imbalance between
what I do to fix this country
to make it one
and what it does for me
what it gives back

I am beggar here, little more
Sidney Poitier, in Hollywood
is a super star

not that I’d wish to be a star
not one upon a Christmas tree
not a real one plummeting down
falling through the dark

I just want to be part
of what rises and falls
reciprocity sea-saw produces,
provides,
like high tide, low tide

in this economy
what banks get away with,
what Starbuck’s charges for coffee,
compared with my ability to sell
and to collect for poetry

something’s not right
about these, about fees
about what Atlantis makes
and what I give for free
in this warm climate, must I freeze

so many Caribbean artists, poets
go to cold Canada to live
to feel rewarded, appreciated
must I too go to examine this mystery
this paradox

woman from Haiti, I understand,
in Canada, is Governor General
Edwidge Danticat,
writer from Haiti, in the U.S.A.
is a literary giant
am I placed where it’s best for me
where it’s best to be

here the wheels turn slowly
at home, I am unable to get a Ph.D.
little or no credit
for all that I teach
for all that I learn

where to from this place, from this day

ii.
when we raised chickens,
from they were little, until they were
large enough to slaughter
would gather about the water trough
about the feed trough
it is there where they grew

often times I feel so far removed
from the water trough
from the feed trough
from the salt lick

here I am puny when others are so well
and so fat, here I am dying
when others are living it up


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:02 p.m. 20/10/07

Twenty-Five Today
for S.B.

she came near enough
for just long enough
to throw herself into my arms
and leave
as illusive as the air I breathe

when we by chance meet
we’d hold each other
as securely as
what was too precious to let go
or let drop

even though I’ve fallen for her
she’s fallen for me
like vases for flowers
and mutually smashed


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
9:48 p.m. 19/10/07

Shirt Off
for M.B.

fitted together still,
like we were once in bed,
like we used to in intercourse

once we had sex in a friend’s bedroom
she in the living room in conversation
with a friend traveling with us

we had to have a quickie
we used to have the house to ourselves,
the owner away, with us house-sitting
that night though, she was present

we wandered into the bedroom
to couple, to make sap,
to whip up love juices
thick, sticky substance, we together made

needed to stop it flowing, wasting,
running onto bed sheets,
onto carpeted floor

inconvenient to ask for towel or go for one
with us both more than half naked
both of us embarrassed
about sweets we’d together stolen
we had to wipe up, reenter,
rejoin out hostess, our company

I ended up bare back in the living room

we wiped with my shirt
I stripped off, soiled with semen,
with our love juices

I threw it to her to carry
she threw it to me
back and forth a few times
she was not carrying it, not owning it
though it was ours
with both our essence on it

it was, after all, more mine than hers
not her to carry the bag
to do the dirty work
we had to share equally
the shit and the sugar


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:05 a.m. 21/02/07

Am I My Enemy
for Angela Palacious

think not of who
is not with you,
not supporting you
are you working
with your maker
are you working
for your Lord


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:18 p.m. 18/10/07

Honey Drops
for Asel, Julio & Aitana

with the sea splashing up
with the wind blowing hard
we ran for the bus in Havana
what very pretty company
what delightful laughter
happy minutes
were rings of a cocoon about us
we each had our own skin
as well, we were together
in the weather of joy
in the season of happiness
your laughter, music you composed
who composed you
heart and soul of Cuba
beating and to bathe in
evening we met among the pews
Basilica seats we exchanged
for bus seats, bus wheels
to journey on,
the rest of our lives to get on with
how impatiently seconds tick
these same seconds at times
like torture dropping
when one in prison sits
we though are as free as birds


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:52 p.m. 16/10/07

8
for Desiree Cox

every brush stroke,
up stroke, upon canvas
must, like insects wings,
have its corresponding
down stroke if what’s created
upon canvas is to carry the viewer
away to some place, swiftly
effortlessly, without weight


©Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:22 p.m. 12/10/07

Able To Chew
for Thea

a gun
like its much larger relative, war
is a toy
which has gotten out of hand


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:23 p.m. 10/10/07

Shovel In Sand
for M.M.

not all of his poems
can you dig with either
not all of his poems
are a hammer in your hand


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:05 p.m. 10/10/07

Time I Wed
for S.B.

reluctant to lie down with myself
like two men in bed
I want a woman to come between us
to get between us
come push us apart


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:55 a.m. 10/10/07


See-Line Woman

Simone's a moan, moans in bed
neighbors able to measure joy
with a gage
girl I'm engaged to marry
when evening falls
when the lights are out
kicks, shouts


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:08 a.m. 10/10/07

Automatic Evening
for C.L.S.

when the lights came on
the fan came on and blew the candle out
without a will,
without a mouth


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:21 a.m. 10/10/07

Length & Breath
for Nadine & Eric

along with what I breathe in
when I breathe in, I read

along with what I breathe our
when I breathe out, I write poems

I exhale them like a soprano exhales song
a long note follows a deep breath


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:06 p.m. 08/10/07

Disguise With A Smile
of L.M.

without a clue
without caring to have a clue
she’d smile the sweetest smile
just as her dad used to

I’d wonder what they know
or knew that I didn’t
wonder if they got it
or caught it

could they have missed the boat,
the bus and wear such a bright smile
such a big smile, sweet smile
without missing a screw


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:20 a.m. 08/10/07

Who Is 26 Today
for Mia Gloria Smith

age I was half of my life ago

is life just years lived
or deep and wide as well
all we have suffered
those whom we’ve forgiven
leaven as well as
unleavened bread consumed

we have loved
and we have been loved
we have lusted
and have been lusted at

Pope John Paul II,
CD of prayers and songs
is worship in my house,
is blessing it,
making what’s secular sacred

in need of redemption
on days like these

when you look at me,
look to me or look through me
what do you see

do we seek examples
or do we seek money

gift of words on your birthday
instead of four million dollars
for dolls


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:31 p.m. 07/10/07

What Falls Flows

the rain softens rocks, softens hearts
softens all when it falls

I love the reign of the rain
falling rain is my favorite kingdom

some instead prefer
the rain of human blood
over the road,
over the pavement


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
9:47 p.m. 06/10/07

With Soup Bowls Waiting

hands closed about stolen honey
figuratively or literally

unable to open to receive
what God hands to us
what’s best for us

what would be most life-enhancing
most life-sustaining

I try to be open, to be empty
when he hands me poems
when he has these to outpour in me


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:23 p.m. 06/10/07

I’ve Tried Affection
for N.T.

fuck trying to appease her
trying to please her
off to war, draw
or with gloves off
without referee or ring, lets swing
no longer twisting
like we did last summer


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:44 p.m. 06/10/07


Tiny Wholes

God made elephants, antelopes, buffaloes
he also made mosquitoes, mites, ticks, lice
small things too have a job to do
like haiku in a world of epics and sonnets


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:46 p.m. 06/10/07

Words for a Sling Shot

big beige bag
I certainly couldn’t carry
a hag on my arm to the altar

she’d have to be altered
to be acceptable, to be of use

big beige bag, like a trash bag
to fill with clothes
for the Salvation Army


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:05 p.m. 06/10/07

Sweet To Me
for S.B.

I could eat your pussy, Miss Bridgewater
I know it’s washed, I know it’s clean
I know it’s soaking in coconut water

I want its jelly lips, its layers
I want to lift them, count them
one by one, with lips, with tongue, with teeth
I want to bite you, make you mine

mine for gold and silver, diamonds, rubies
where your thighs meet and part

highway for my tongue to get up to the clouds
make thunder, make rain, make lightning flash,
crack a gray day clean in half

I want the fruit only Eden offers,
innocence offers, before the fall,
before they fall and I have to pick them up
all bruised up off the ground


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:59 p.m. 05/10/07

I The Diet She Was On
for M.

she sucked with such determination
as if indebted to me

she’d pay today or die, every penny
leave me indebted to her instead

my manhood in her clutches
two hands, two fists, clasping it
she sucked it hard and oh, so sweetly
and so expertly for a lady

when I came she swallowed, like drink,
light drink she delighted in

I felt precious, I felt holy
with her holding me securely, firmly
drinking every drop of it, of me

too precious to waste or to wonder
what to do with semen
other than to let them swim

she must like the taste of tadpoles
eating them live, their tails whipping,
lashing


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:36 p.m. 5/10/07