Mud.

Mud.
Earth she.
Water him.
Where she touched his skin he forgets where he begins.
Where is sin when her skin was wine where she ended?
He befriended Earth.
And he began in Water.
As a boy without a father, he turned to ice for all his colds shouldered.
He threw cold shoulders at pretenders, fingers outstretched to catch his shade.
He begins to fade when he gets down,
and he wants to be down
with earth.
The kind of smile that makes you hurt.
Close to her.
You wanna feel like dirt.
Close to something way deeper than a sea,
close to me,
I am proud to mix and become this mud.
This is love, blood, and more.
This is a promise from the sea to rain in every pore.
She is mystic. Addictive. Largely musical.
And water yearned for the mystery of Something Beautiful,
and what he found was destiny.
How many times do you think that you’ve found destiny?
But everything happens for a reason.
And that was reason not to live his life in ice.
It was nice
tumbling with fire for a while.
His head wrapped around the tiny warmth of it’s flame.
Forget a name,
but recall the burn in perfect memory,
cursed to wonder evermore what could it mean.
But fire and water mix to make an overdose of self-esteem.
Or maybe his selfish steam.
He sees he had to leave to let fire burn so it could dream.
And spread.
Thank god he found Earth drowned in deep water.
She brought him home and fixed his broken bones with kisses.
With looks. With gazes rapt in thought shoot from her eyes.
Darkly Red like copper.
Earth touches water and grows trees on his gentle soul,
that once was barren.
Her worth was weightless, more than karats in perfect diamonds.
We shine.
And if we’re dry,
Sometimes we crumble.
I am humble beneath the tree of us.
Mud cracks to dust,
wet again becomes clay.
Flexible expression beyond what words can say.
And you and I are statues defining the first beauty intact in Rome.
This is home and so much more.
He is sore for a bit of earth.
He would work to be buried in dirt,
was she land or was she Moses
with the way she moves the sea?
So close to me, I am hooked on looks in staircases, smitten from hidden kisses in her inner circle, driven insane by the way she smells, that perfume of dew and new fruit, eyes glued to her hourglass. She wore the time like a dress, dressed like autumn and summer.
This is Spring.
And despite falling water,
I will be STONE for you.
I am a whole man alone on the face of you.
And nothing will ever take away my mountains.
My statues.
My clay.
Beyond the sea
or frank words as Frank would say:
I’ve got you under my skin.
It’s more than blood.
This one is called mud
because everything that ever was is destined for dirt and water.
Mud.
Man Unwrapping Divinity.
This is Earth and water and new found virginity,
in pools of us.
In seas lush with life and green,
dreams of land and man, sand and beaches.
We mix beneath the waves,
I keep my Earth to save close,
and though I sit within my mental pit.
Scars aching from a gentle split.
He sharpens pencils with sentimental tenderness,
and all this elemental shit
is POINTLESS
if it wasn’t true.
If not, that’s up to you.
This is food, drink, and more.
And I am SORE
for a bit of Earth.
A drink of Water.
A little love.
And a bit of Mud.
And this is BLOOD and INK and so much more.

Mud.

Shaquille Stewart

Montgomery Village, United States

  • Artist
    Notes
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