.
The skies prove their incontinence yet again
The winds cause my mattress to feel larger
and I peruse my phone's gallery
invaded lately by photos
of you, received and stolen
Not like I need permission
to store away reminders of potent Melanin
those locks of hair that fit as a horse's mane
and round mounds of flesh
that seem like the perfect saddle.
.
And when I stumble on
thighs that bring back memories
akin to that of nibbling at barbecued chicken
I swallow hard in anticipation
of warm dripping juice
causing me to fluff my lines
like certain law enforcement agents
But who wouldn't lose balance?
Yea, who wouldn't mis-transmit when
their eyes behold lips
that hold promise of abundant sugar?
.
Much is made about astral travel
and wishes to genies
But if I was ever offered
a magic carpet, your bosom
would be my premier destination
my head finding home in cleavage
For the tingling of your toes
and the sight of you
shutting your eyes while
you sigh in degrees of satisfaction
is worth a hundred hours of flight.
.
I spend half the day with
hands in my pockets
because I do not want the world
to see what thoughts of you
do to me, or what I paint with
Yea, your skin is a canvas
and for you, I make
paintbrushes out of my body parts
and defying month-long fasts, let us
make Art so divine
that God himself would be
moved to take a peek
when we gasp from
the eager collisions of our torsos.
.
The effect from half a dozen cups of coffee
pale in comparison to
what I hope to feel
when your quiet breathing
greets my neck
I find myself reveling in
memories of cuddles yet to happen
and thinking of the
most saccharine words to whisper
when we finally get to fall asleep
to the sound of rain battering rooftops.
