Far from timid • Caveat Lector



In his last life

I imagine he might’ve been a painter

Maybe he played keys in a band

A preacher, a deacon, a prophet

I never sought reconciliation with God

Until I came to know his hands

Shit, maybe he was a voyager, a traveler of some sorts

He was intentional with his movement

Analyzing the sounds I produced as he explored

He watched me squirm beneath him

Always intrigued, never stopped going

So maybe he was a scholar

Because he was set on learning

The intricacies of the walls

All of my inner workings

He probably was a dope ass philosopher,

A novelist, a writer, or a poet

His words lead me deeper

His visions readjusted my focus

I still retrace the places that were shattered

He planted his words, his healed me

He was patient

He watered and watched me flourish

It’s possible he was a singer

With the way he hummed life into me

I often hear the gods whispering the sonnets

I don’t think he intended to leave

Imprinted on my skin like a tattoo artist

A designer or an architect

No, he was most likely the master

Of some ancient spiritual practice

I can close my eyes and envision

The many colors of his kisses

Oh, how I was replenished

All of my insecurities weakened

So maybe he was a yogi

With the way he realigned and balanced me

I unintentionally vibrated higher

Discovered dimensions I never thought I’d see

Maybe he was Zeus or Perun

A lesser god or deity

Audros, Jupiter, Indra, he could have been Yu Shi

He had a way with storms

He had his way with me

I’ve never believed in reincarnation

Until my lips met his

If he was a painter

I was his muse

And we’ve finally met again

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