Harlem to Brooklyn

metaphorically her laugh lines cease
where crows steps creep
at crease of dreams that lie within
the fold of her lips.
and she whispers
a poem which leaks between heartbeats
of my bleeding heartaches
as our words connect at fading heart lines..
we hold hands and I spit the piece of eternal peace
that was once she
and she breathes her life back into me.

Mo....
a segment of a piece written for the tribe of women who reared this village idiot. Thanks for the continued support and sisterhood. I remember last year's lessons, and my Sister, I sincerely hope that I have made you proud. I don't wish to walk in your footprints, only follow the strength in your steps, and forge my own path. Thanks for being one of the many lights, maps, pit stops and watering holes along the way. You continue to inspire. Texas is your third coast home, know where ever there is a NEO-soldier, you have a refrigerator in which to chill your cherries, a ride to the nearest Starbucks, and place to rest your head.... But no one, but me, will raise enough HELL to make sure you get a decent meal.....
kimberley d taylor (knowtorious13)

and no, I'm not from Harlem (in this lifetime).