I hear your soul breathing to me
through sticky thick summer night heat,
your word topples kingdoms,
crumbles mountainsides,
lion and tiger growl surf your current now curling 'bout my ankles...
May I steal your word, steal and not return?
But why plunder the palace of God who gives freely?
Power, passion, pulse, and piety grab my thighs,
large cherry wood brown hands grip and part,
your art shoots me up rapaciously needling Eve's artery
straight through to top of my skull.
I dance, hung from the puppeteer's lust-drenched string.
From 1,000 miles away, you tug and tongue me, yet
tug and tongue above me, laughing the deep gutteral zing
triumphant.
I could care less.
I'm happy to be won, made to jig, pump and grind,
wriggle for you negro.
You've got it like that.