ya mama got jell-o feet w/ fruit in the toes.

my nigga writes for me.

and don't ever let that nigga tell u
that he ain't a poet

cause ive tasted
the verse that spans the width of his chest

felt the vibrations
of his verbs beneath bedsheets

word, don't let him say
that he ain't a poet

that man has rewritten
clouds & skies & stars & clover & color & love

& love & love & love
& love

love
is his specialty

i became his poem & loved
his hands long before i ever saw them hold a pen

my nigga writes for me
the most beautiful shit i've never seen

but heard each time
we watch the sky lighten in silence

felt in each breath of his that blesses
the space b/t my breasts

word, my baby's poems are open ended
so that we'll go on & on & on
&


--Tracy Lynne
July 5, 2003

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