Writes..."You Are Named After The Dog? Ha Ha Ha...!"

"it's not like i'm after some unattainable treasure, manuevering through life-threatening traps and surviving other perilous dangers, seeking out fame and fortune. i'm not "indiana jones" searching for a "lost ark" or a "holy grail". i'm just a dude who wants someone that wants to stand beside me, holding my hand as she proclaims to the world that she's with me."

Writes..."A Perfect Love"

"i've never claimed to be anything other than a regular dude; flawed and imperfect. but i've loved imperfect people with a perfect love by loving them with everything that i was; with everything that i had."

Writes..."Pop"

"i long for the sound of the audible "pop" that would come when my lips leave yours; it's that longing that sustains me until thoughts become actions and we share true passion through a kiss."

Presents..."Insatiable" by Jasmin Williams

"no matter how many times i get it i want more... there must be something wrong with me. every time i look in a book, or turn on the tv i'm looking for it. not a single man can cross my path un scanned. i can feel my skin heat up when the possibility is given to me in text or audio format. as a matter of fact i enjoy that much more than agreeing mutually. i like the possibility given to me as an ultimatum.. tell me what to do. i'm always looking for new prospects and always contacting old conquests. i'm insatiable, just try and douse this fire. i welcome the challenge and yet i'm undefeated"

Writes..."In The Night"

"it's the middle of the night and i'm laying under the sheets staring at the ceiling. my mind full of thoughts i pray i could let myself stop thinking; literally; which is saying something because i don't pray for anything. ever. but god's not listening to my cries; either he doesn't hear me or he doesn't see the tears that i shed over her. maybe it's been so long since the last time we talked that he doesn't recognize my voice anymore. or maybe he just doesn't care and i really am on my own in this life. i mean i say that all the time but what if it's truer than i actually believe it to be. what if i am alone and everything that can or will come to me is of my own making? what if there is no higher power? what if i am my own master; controller of my own destiny? i believe i am but my own sage? i hope not, i hope i'm not supposed to be totally dependent on myself for every answer i need for my existence because i don't really know anything. so i choose to pray. genuflecting; "our father which art in heaven...while my black ass suffers heartache down here on earth...hallowed be thy name...forgive a nigga for being lame...forgive a nigga for claiming something that he doesn't even fully understand". but maybe i shouldn't start my prayers like that. maybe that's a little too blasphemous; it does seem a tad condescending for a mere mortal, even to the person saying the words.

like i said before i'm wide awake but it isn't a surprise, it happens every time i try to spend the night with her. i lie there next to here while she sleeps, totally drained from the fucking i'd just given her; so exhausted she didn't even wipe away my seed as it ran out of her and down her leg. she simply kissed me one last time, told me she loved me and got her naked ass under the sheets. then she was gone to the world. and now that i'm thinking about that image, a slight smile crosses my lips; there's a sense of satisfaction in knowing that i put her to bed, both literally and figuratively. and more satisfaction in knowing she's dreaming about it now; as she stirs in her sleep she's making intelligible noises that sound like my name; her hands under the sheets moving along her body following the same path i'd traveled not long before. my presence is ingrained in her mind; she feels my fingers touching her even when i'm not there; she hears my voice whispering into her ears when i'm can't be near her. i'm as much a part of her as anything she's ever known has been and that's still not enough for us.

i can't stare into the black anymore tonight; i gotta get out of here. i pull the sheets off of myself and slide my legs over the side of the bed with as little movement as possible, as to not disturb her slumber. but the floor is cold, my feet instantly frozen; and i almost curse out loud but i catch myself and choose to mouth profanities at the darkness instead. i don't want to wake my sleeping goddess, even though she's drooling on her pillow right now. i search for my clothes; they're scattered all across the floor. we had started discarding them the instant we entered the room during our moment of passion and now they are in crumpled heaps on the floor. first, i find my underwear; and then my jeans. i look back at her seemingly lifeless body while pulling my "silvertab's" up and she's stretched out on her stomach, her ass slightly elevated and i begin to flashback to a previous time i'd had her in that position. and i want to touch her but i know better; all touching her would do is start another round of lovemaking; and while it would be heavenly, it wouldn't make it any easier to leave her when we were done. because i can't stay. i never can, even though all i want to be able to sleep beside her; to have her be the first thing i see when i wake up in the morning; to lay face-to-face in the bed, have her look into my eyes and tell me she loves me; to have her know that i love her and that she believes what i'm telling her with her whole heart.

and i do love her. despite feeling i need to make hasty departures during the middle of the night, i really do love her. and she knows it too, ask her. she'll tell you that from 9 p.m. to 3 a.m. nobody loves anybody any harder than we love each other. in fact, nobody has ever loved anybody else harder than we have. ever. i leave because i don't know how to love her the rest of the hours of the day. i pray because i can't figure out why it's so difficult for us to love each other during the daytime. i cry because loving each other shouldn't be as hard as it seems to be for us, especially when after the sun's gone down we profess to share the same strong feelings for one another.

grabbing my shirt after lacing up my "j's", i glance back at her and she's flipped onto her back. her nipples press against the thin sheet she lies under; the imprint of them visible from across the room and by the moonlight coming in through the window. another slight smile from my lips; i know she's still dreaming about me. perhaps a fantastical dream about us loving each other in the daytime as much as we love each other in the night."

Writes..."Wasting Time"

"i can't say i'm living without her because the truth is there is no living without her; only being. every day we're not together is another day passed i simply existed; another day having wasted the most valuable resource known to man. while our love was infinite; and our passion limitless; it was our time here that was fleeting. and with us both realizing that the time that elapses is time gone and once gone, gone forever. where's the urgency between us? knowing that i'm losing even one opportunity to tell her i love her; or missing a single chance to touch her face or place my lips on her own; should be an unbearable weight to me. i'm "atlas"; attempting to hold up the heavens but being crushed under the pressure of the bullshit in the air. i want her but i'm here alone. wasting time. being."

Writes..."Our Kiss"

"we kiss as soon as i open the door and she blushes, embarrassed that there are people watching our very public display of affection. she begins to shuffle; her mind telling her to pull away from me but she can't; her heart won't let her. we continue making out in the doorway because seh already knows what i would say about her reluctance to do so; something about us having not seen each other in a long time, blah blah (the feel of my lips on hers); or her having come such a long way just to see me, more blah blah (slipped her some tongue); the most important thing being that i love her and really don't give a shit about who sees me slobbing her down. so so doesn't break from our kiss. she loves me and she loves how i used to slob her down; i mean how i slob her down. yeah, that's what i meant.

we stand the kissing for about three minutes before she literally has to pull herself away from me; our lips releasing with an audible pop. she turns her head towards my mother and they acknowledge one another; first with a wave and then a pretty standard exchange of pleasantries before she offers an modest apology for our behavior at the door. my mother accepts it, saying she understands, that she can only imagine how this must be for us; to finally be re-united after all these years; knowing that we still have feelings for each other. but i know my mother, so it isn't a stretch for me to imagine her shaking her head in disapproval as we were having our moment. not unhappy for us, just disapproving of our methods; she wasn't one for participating in that kind of overt expression of passion; or one for having to watch one. she says she understands and i think she really wants to, but i don't think she really comprehends this connection between us. all she remembers is that we were together and then we weren't; all we remember is everything else. i can't make her understand that we're bonded. so i offer no apology. like i said before, i don't really give a shit about who sees me slobbing her down; slobbing her up; or slobbing her sideways."

Writes..."Nicole Simpson Can't Rap...And Neither Can I...IX"

"roses are red, a deep crimson hue
fuck valentine's day and fuck you too
fuck dr. seuss, fuck hearing a who
fuck r. kelly, let me piss on you
golden showers of excellence boo
i make it rain pee; that's what i do

nattie does too, remember that shit
know we chopping wood like timber bitch
i mean spitting fire like ember bitch
our words: currency; we're über rich
that's german bitch; deutschland shit
thinking at a higher level like nietzsche bitch

taking time for smarter rhymes; that is true
falling behind greater minds; dumbass you

this is a massacre of the grandest kind
like chicago '29, on valentine's

these words are blood-letting shit, gut-spilling shit
pants-wetting shit, we killing it; betting that you feeling this
to understand the sick shit i spit
bubonic plague from my words; i said it's sick
"black death" and shit; nothing to fuck with
merked by pen; poisoned tip; here it drips"

again, all apologies to "real" rappers, i'm still just fucking around.

Writes..."My Valen-spine"

"i can't move...literally. i bent over to spit while brushing my teeth and coughed, causing my body to jerk violently and i hurt myself...bad. i mean real bad, like "it took me 30 minutes of standing, reaching and crying to put my underwear on" bad. and that's no exaggeration; in fact it probably took longer. i think i spent the first 20 minutes just thankful i could still had feeling in my legs. and now i'm stuck on the couch, unable to move, and in tremendous pain.

i need a valentine. i need a woman. i need love; preferably from someone with some pain medication and willing to rub my back; because honestly, i don't think i'll be moving off this couch anytime soon."

Writes..."What Can I Do For You?"

"we met towards the end of march in 2007, i want to say the 23th but it could have been the 26th, i'd have to check my myspace account be sure. our first conversation; spaced out between days because we were communicating through messages and i didn't have internet access at home. i had to talk to her when i could and that was only when i was at the library and we were both online. but even when we weren't, it was exciting to sit down and see she had written me the day before and to know that she was waiting for a response from me. we did that for a couple weeks, even after she had given me her number and asked me to call her. there's something about corresponding like we did through writing that i find compelling; it had a kind of "passing around 'do you like me, check this box' notes in junior high school" feel to it. wondering if she liked what i had written or what she was going to say next. it wasn't something i normally did but i have been blessed because i stepped "the hell outside the box".

sometime during that first conversation she had mentioned that she wasn't the "average" woman, so i asked her to describe what she thought the "average" woman was. when she told me i discovered her to be a person who thought a lot like i did; definitely someone worth getting to know better. i liked the things she had to say about herself; that she wasn't materialistic; or worried about her image; that she was doing for herself. i'll never forget when she said, "i always ask the question to the other sex.."what can you do for me that i can't do for myself?" and if your answer starts with a "i can't buy", or "sex" your eliminated by default...lol!" and i remember laughing, thinking: "i can't buy but that isn't some shit i'd just volunteer to someone, that's some shit they would have to discover. and sex? again, not something i'd just put out there, even if it had been on my mind". but at the time i wasn't even thinking about sex. i was all about establishing a relationship with a woman; it hadn't been rooted in my mindset so it wasn't something i worried about.

so no, i didn't answer her question with "i can't buy" or "sex"; if fact i don't think i answered her question at all. actually, i don't remember her asking me so i never really thought about it back then. what could i do for her that she couldn't do for herself?

four years later, i guess i'd say the same thing now that i would have said then, you know, if she had actually asked me. i'd tell her that knowing that she cares more about others than herself; that she's not materialistic or worried about her image; and that she's doing for herself; makes her sound like a woman worthy of a man that loves her with everything that he is. "what can i do for her that she can't do for herself?" i can love her the way she deserves to be loved."