Born from the belly of a loud-ass, redbone bayou woman,
you stand firm on the foundation of yourself
demand I let go tedious thoughts and be god.
Never afraid to get mad and ask me,
"Do you know magic?
Can you utter the name of your soul and bring yourself back to light?"
To be in your presence, I must emerge unblemished from valleys of bat-wielding yesterdays.
To be worthy of your touch, need to recite your mantras in twelve tongues.
I am a man longing to attend perfection.

Rub my shoulders with savior's hands.
Align me between your wings, teach me all the levels of your identity.
No shame drinking in your round the way curves.
See, you delivered me from ladies of carnelian soul,
rescued me from anxious nights, kisses of poison and infidelity.
It's you that balances my heavy scales.
I am a man longing for synchronicity.

The way to win you can't be found on web pages or in Sun Tzu ...
it is written in the language of sacrifice.
Carved in forgotten runes along the bones of the left side of my body.
Teach me to remember.
Educate me so I can know your ways like I know my name.
When you open those apricot lips to cry out, I'll already be on guard.
Let you be when you retreat to my recliner,
     wire glasses on ball of your nose, some book giving you a wall to think behind.
Then, when you lay quietly, and sunlight treads lightly across your cheeks,
I'll smoothe the strain from your waterfall crown of hair
     and Stevie Wonder love you into rhapsody.
I, too, am a soul opening into light.