I had suffered so long
with the fear of you
finding me in my dreams and
doing things that I…
The fear of you
would cause me to sweat
but it would be sacrilege to speak of the throbbing secrets that
existed between my mind and the heat drenched
pillows that counseled me to escape from home,
from the grasps of
finding me in my hiding space.
It terrified me
to know that they
knew me in a special way.
Knew the passageway to my inner truths,
knew their tongues spoke for parts of me that had no business being heard
out loud. God didn’t give the thighs a voice,
but apparently, through you
she intended for them to be heard
speaking in tongues.
were my refuge of convenience. I wasn’t impressed or hypnotized
by any exotic notion
of difference or the countenance of white supremacies
trying to unlearn me of the beauty of the diversity of blackness
and the richness of a deep onyx, cocoa chocolate
oil black and smooth brother. I hid in the bakery of high yellow
mixes for their warmth, their sweet cakes and intrigue for what
i could give them. They wanted all my stuff and I knew they’d never get it.
No (love) life based in fear will ever last.
I run no more. I no longer fear the depth of your touch, the truth of your eyes and the risk of disconnection after the locking of lips, hips and ass or the disengagement of departing dicks, kisses and laughter. To know you at all, is to know that the world is here for me too. To know that my oak-brown flesh is worthy of love and not just a color-coded potpourri of jack’d fucks, fleeting kisses and attempts to be seen as the exceptional blaqueer..
Perhaps that was the greatest fear of all. To believe that my tea was both strong
and sweat enough,
worthy to be touched
by the cream.