(Another piece composed for "O". Also recited at several open mics)
(By the way, that's "O" up there. Nice right?)
It's 8:56 P.M. and tonight is a night for random thoughts. I am thinking of Him. His voice....damn, I feel it touching me. Stroking me with almost fluid smoothness. It caresses the woman I am and the woman I wish to become. I want Him...all of Him. Not just His dick, but all of Him. I want His mind, spirit, emotions, regrets, fears, dreams, even His children's children. I want His body like I want my soul to be free. I want all He is and was...I want everything He ever will be. He is made up of things I wanted, received then cast away. He is made up of the past, present and future. Now that I am becoming what I am meant to be I can appreciate all that He is and will be. I have to be blatantly honest......I want to fuck Him mentally, spiritually, emotionally and physically. I want to get so deep inside of Him that we won't be able to tell where He ends and I begin. I want Him to do the same. I want Him hilt deep inside of me, exploring every crack, crease, crevice and corner of my being. I want to build something with Him. I want to plant seeds with Him and just sit back and watch them grow. I want Him to want me like I want Him. I want to breathe Him in and out 24-7-365. I want to share my world with Him. There's nothing I wouldn't do for Him or give to Him. When I think of Him clichés come to mind, shit like....He's so fly if I jumped off a 20 story building He could catch me in mid-air. And He's gonna have to catch me because I'm falling...for Him. My thoughts have been taken hostage by His presence and my mental meanderings begin and end with He and I becoming us. He is incredible; unforgettable...sonnets should be composed and dedicated to the rich blackness of His skin and hair. He is as close to perfection as I can imagine but as far from perfect as any man is. I cannot define Him...that would limit Him and His abilities. His fascination with my hips, lips and eyes cause rivulets of arousal to drip from between my thighs. He makes love to me with his words and croons impassioned tunes with His eyes. I feel His hands and know bliss. Even in my most fanciful conceptions I never knew it could be like this. Most times I cannot articulate the sentiments He inspires. It seems like everything I desire to say about Him has already been said. The words I want to use have been taken by someone else...uttered by strange deceitful lips so that now they're unfit when trying to describe what He is to me. The best I can do to relate His traits is play songs by Jill Scott and India Arie. But I must take a stab at it. He makes me dream dreams and think the impossible is possible damn it. He makes me want to simultaneously sink and float...fly sky high and get down and dirty. I want to suck His soul through His dick and let His essence dwell in me forever. Yes, I'm talking about tantric love and Kama Sutric sex. I want Him literally, figuratively, virtually and realistically. I just...I just....damn I just want to have Him, hold Him, get under His skin and make myself at home. I want us to be deeper than friends/lovers, higher than a husband/wife and truer than soul mates. I don't care about the haves and the have nots, the past disappointments or possible future failures...I just want Him. I want Him like I want to breathe my next breath of fresh air.
This is for my black aphrodisiac of a muse, his John Kerry-esque tendencies have me all confused....body of a god and fickle heart of a man, it's all I can stand to not shout his name from the rooftops and carve his heart encased name in trees. He has the kind of good stuff that makes me want to spend the rest of my life on my knees. If he says the word it's his exclusively.