Honeystains on manuscript pages
Hungry kisses in sonnets and sestinas
bookmarked with tastes lingering forever.

Her hair brushed outta my eyes
eyes rollin' in my head
back of my head in palm of her hand
hands on me like fingerpaintin' canvas ...

... girl, stay in the lines!

I can stand the heat.
All up in her kitchen like dirty skillet and Kool Aid jug.
Fingers dancin' through kinky spaces next to part of her
I want wrapped around me always.

Lookin' at me like a Popeye's 3 wing special,
suckin' pieces of my tenderness from between her teeth,
her arms surround me like winter nightfall over Collierville.
World disappears behind curtain of cinnamon breasts.
Blanketed in Black skin,
slice of air in between gives breath
slow squeeze of legs around me never letting go.

Saturday night chases Sunday's light into peals of thunder
flashes of lightning synchronized
with shimmer of passion starin' down at me.
Speak mother tongue when she call me daddy,
Jamie Lee Curtis had to call Neve Campbell,
'cause they never heard no screamin' like that.
Flickerin' lips ignite every cell like nuclear fission ...

Rhythm of her moans
staggered in the rhythm of her body
carry us into pages of family album.
Grandchildren recite this wordless legend,
written in love that makes up their DNA
after our song has ended, our language forgotten,
every time they laugh and smile.

Fragments of our commitment
embedded in hard covers of our story
impressions in page same as impressions in my soul,
pressed down with passionate scribbles, delicate metaphors ...

That's why I want a poet to love me.
record me with her kisses and cherish me in text
so I can feel the intensity across the room,
read aloud for the world to know.