Godiva
he said he found the golden wrapper
as he crawled between my legs,
gently spreading my knees,
giving my panties a tease.
it was a confident tongue
that slipped them to the side
as i tried to keep captive
my trembling surprise…
see, he badly craved a taste
of my raspberry truffle
lightly dusted with a layer
of cocoa powder.
the cursive in his strokes
made his tongue a well-versed pen
as he licked
his signature
between my thighs…
my decadence
decorated
by the cadence
of my dark version of moans
and milk version of sighs,
my baby looked up at me
with mischief in his eyes.
the god
in his tongue
met the diva
‘tween my thighs,
making a smooth blend
of saliva
and Godiva
hinted by a kiss of rum,
as my sugared love
drizzled
all over his tongue.
i smiled as he took pride
in his greedy appetite.
i swear he’d catch me in a bottle
and put me in his pocket
so he can take another sip
from my syrupy faucet
but what can a sista say…
i’ve just got that kind of chocolate ;)
Friday The 13th
28 days in this miserable month
named February.
(curses to her very existence)
and this year,
it isn’t Friday the 13th
that I fear; it’s the day after:
Saturday, the 14th.
a day that reminds me of my solitude
in the middle of millions celebrating
the disgusting characteristics
of love.
eew.
it really
makes me
sick.
i’m not afraid of superstitions
or solemn black cats;
ladders, spilled salt
or stepping on cracks.
today, i’m just fine
but tomorrow…i fear
that being alone
is all that i’ll remember.
if i see one more damn Kay commercial
or hear about one more chick
whose man went to Jared’s,
or witness one more pink heart,
Hallmark card or red rose
i’m likely to punch in a wall
or two
because, damn it all,
i deserve to be spoiled
and loved
and reminded how beautiful
and smart, and talented
and friggin’ magnificent i am,
if on no other day.
but for the 24th year,
i will be
lonely
on what should be a woman’s
fuzziest day…
the day that will become
my very misery
in the absence of what should be
the presence of him.
but he gave up on us.
and 28 days later,
exactly four weeks of space
in between us,
i will rise in the morning.
i will feel unloved.
i will crave the emotions
that other women will bathe in
as i remember
that this one day…
i’m a bitter lonely woman
who just wants a damn hug.
someone ask Chucky
or Jason
or Freddie
if they’ll take a break from killing
and be my valentine.
it’s not them i fear
on this largely cursed day.
it’s cupid who scares me.
Sunday, please,
come quickly.
Silk
a spider spins a sturdy web
across the distance
between two strong limbs,
angled gently against
the moon’s sultry glow
as each thread glistens
with drops of glitter
from indigo skies.
a dream catcher spun of silver,
a never ending realm
forming interlocked lines of
love and deceit,
each turn a shorter distance
to the labyrinth’s center
only to find upon arrival
that nothing was there.
it is not the sheltered light
trapped inside the arms of lace
or the intricate strings
on this instrument of seduction
that make this sticky canvas
so eerily stitched.
it’s how it hides in the dusk
teased only by warm winds,
twilight creeping into darkness
as it feigns a harmless ripple
its beauty only rivaled
by the soft silhouette
of its prey, whose blind innocence
led her to this false embrace.
Speak Now
I spoke to him last night.
He called, I answered
and to hear his voice
was to reignite a flame
but very little oxygen
was there to be consumed.
It was a slow conversation,
weighed down by heavy layers
of tension and uneasiness
after 3 weeks gone unspoken.
but we sat there, the silence
thickening over the line.
for a while, it’s been difficult
to voice my concerns,
what i’ve learned, what i think,
and curiosity about his stance:
i wanted to express these things
but my tongue remained still.
do i spill my emotions,
when he silences his so well?
i’ve taken my heart off my sleeve;
too much of me was vulnerable.
do i cut her out again
so i may tell him how i feel?
but what’s the use, when all he’ll do
is take it in with no response.
it’s not as if something will change;
miracles don’t happen
in the absence of concern.
he’d have to want it, which he won’t.
i’d have to fight for it,
which i can no longer do.
so i’m left with a choice:
say it now and free myself,
exhale these thoughts that keep me
sinking in diluted love.
or hold it down with lock and key
and digest it on my own
so i may silently struggle
and forever hold my peace.
It’s Not Like
It’s not like I met him and thought he was cute
Or felt his touch from thousands of miles away.
It’s not like he was every thought and smile
Or the reason I was eager to get on a plane.
It isn’t as if he gripped my heart in some love locked fist
And convinced me that maybe he was worth fighting for.
It isn’t like I admire his mother
Or chat often with his four best friends.
It’s not like we toured a couple cities
Or had cute nicknames and inside jokes.
It wasn’t even close to being like a Disney movie
Or like I wore a necklace or hugged a bear.
It’s not like I envisioned our future
Or cherished each kiss until more was to come.
It’s not like we chatted for hours, for months
It’s not as if I finally believed in something real
Or was able to trust fearlessly for the first time.
How could it be like any of these things
When the truth is…
It wasn’t even close to similar;
This is simply
exactly
how it was.
But who cares.
It’s not like
I fell in love.