Her Mojo

HER MOJO
i will love you
with my rhyme
and satiate you with my time
spent willingly
uninterrupted
til hate limps away
corrupted
and apathy licks his wounds
and the banal returns to her cocoon
for like is too little
and a metaphor to brittle
to sustain the mustard seeds
from which our oak tree breeds

WOMAN OF WISDOM or MOTHER NATURE
she has so many thoughts
but she keeps them hidden
so no one trips or slips
her beauty is the disguise
she commands
to busy man's
heart
while she calendars the moon
and jewels the stars
and orders the seasons
with her reasons
while men frolic aimlessly
and call her pretty

LET THERE BE WOMAN
the butterfly
left in a hurry
leaving a smattering of dust
that intoxicated men
making women a must


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