An Untitled Poem From Sir Myles Bristow

I fell in love with the smile in your eyes;

It was deep,

rich and vibrant,

Your pupils were sunlight

that tickles and warms

the coral hiding beneath

cool blue-green waters.

Your teeth were shy pearls

Too afraid of their own

beauty to venture out

And brave the risk

of being snatched away.

Your dimples were

mahogany wishing wells

Drawing lost souls

into a haven long forgotten.

I wanted to dive into the crests of your wildest joy

And be carried away.

I fell in love with your scent,

It was stifling, like silent cries and prayers before God

Made beneath moonlight and burning candles.

The heavy handed stench of abused fruit hangs,

subdued by cocoa butter, sea salt, and curry laden

dreams of escaping Master’s stony gaze.

puffy eyed bakes and saltfish dance in the wake of

gyrating hips

Like masses hypnotized by the pulsating riddims

Of oil tin drums and suppressed instincts

Your scent was loud and overwhelming

Like the oil tin factories you helped me escape from

I fell in love with your language;

Each word floats off your tongue

While syllables richochet between eardrums

I run my fingers through each sentence textured like

Nana’s jambalaya.

This coarse, Afro-Euro-Indo-Carib medley,

kinky, strangely familiar, and cascading like your untamed

tresses,

paints pepper-soaked colloquialisms across my cortex.

The spice rings my taste buds and my throat,

Dulling over time but never losing its bite.

I, a patron at a feast of musical morphemes

Bask in the flavors of your daily conversations.

I fell in love with your body Equal parts curvaceous and courageous Your warm embrace belies half-healed scars

Gifted by those who couldn’t control your spirit.

Struck by the coils of their greed then cast off as refuse,

your body rebuilt itself into a temple of fiery will and

careful hands

a testimonial tempered, blackened, beaten, and breathtakingly beautiful.

Your iron will sings from tin drums like church bells,

your children dance your stories into my skin like retracing memories of each scar’s journey

until the tapestry unfolds within my own veins.

Myles Bristow

Myles Bristow

Ezra is currently pursuing an MFA in Illustration for Comics/Graphic Novels at Academy of Art University in San Francisco, CA while building new media campaigns as a freelance designer and illustrator. In his free time, he's trying to figure out how to say "I want more french fries" in a dozen different languages. Ezra is currently pursuing an MFA in Illustration for Comics/Graphic Novels at Academy of Art University in San Francisco, CA while building new media campaigns as a freelance designer and illustrator. In his free time, he's trying to figure out how to say "I want more french fries" in a dozen different languages.

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