Poetry: when alkebulan is stuck on repeat by Ashanti

when your heart is unbalanced & your honeyed sunshine cloud of an afro is pulled at the roots like you like & there are no photos to want to remember & you replay the memories like her tape deck is stuck & you walk to a small club on U Street and know nothing of the rules of engagement or the tropics & the showcase is loud but the people move, slow and intimate & you’re thinking with a sensitive brain & now her hands are up your heather grey skater dress & your black brocade g string is sitting on the sidelines of your thighs now & your mouth is made bone / oh but that other mouth is open and flowing & her fingers are being fed deeper and lovelier & literature, music, live painting, song, poetry, common sense all bleed into a colorful background & rum and coke is flowing past your lips into your eyes fueling your bloodstream like a race & this makes the moans comfortable & that wet spot is proud and big like your sounds wish to grow & my friends are watching & we keep going & this is my first date & she was 27 & i was 19

when your hormones are raging the day after valentine’s day & we met again & shared my virginity in seconds and thirds and fourths and fifths and sixths and seventh hours on a twin sized bed in Wheatley 215 left side & i wasn’t looking for another mother & you weren’t her anyways & when i called you Daddy, your heart and pussy did swoon & still we met for a month of weekends & let me flesh out poems & we made good use of that PhD you were receiving from UMD & i was left on my way as you went yours & thank you because mother still thinks she failed at raising me as a lady & the best side of my heart knows that Joslyn hasn’t soured in my mouth & skin & bed of my mind & my pen, either. & i’ll always know she first tasted agave nectar from my fingers, tinted of strawberry & the satisfaction of her mouth tasting of honey and ambrosia from my flesh.


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