My love for you is too wide for confinement, iluminating a lineage of broken hearts. Hearts made of gold,
defending with spines made of steel; all
the attacks on my heart, too brave to mutter or flail.
But you're different. Your bone-shattering honesty is disarming and delightful. I talk to you and I see language as elastic, kaleidoscopic magic, cinematic and a graceful education in the possibilities.
The choice in your voice is pungent, poignant; and plumbs a diaspora of resiliency - rich in ringshouts and
inner city blues chanting to the sky; I touch your luminous skin and discover I've dipped my hands into the fabric of manhood and I revel in it.
Sex with you is a lesson, a story and a mirror that you hold up to ensure I pay attention to that which is overlooked. The love in your highly antipated, stunning intimacy, is my day-to-day saviour; I treat like worship turning it into opportunities to plant new seeds of growth.
Our tongues are medicinal metaphors that convey emotional states. We kiss as an act of remembrance, an act of believing that we are a celebration; waiting for the lights to come up. Ultimately, you rise above my chaos to offer a fresh and positive perspective of a shared humanity and beauty.
I beg you to stay, to stay in me and with me, to stay lucid and present in this very moment as if you know that now, is all we are guaranteed. As a generation of trauma seeps through me, in a world that only takes what it is owed, you are my home; but can my body deconstruct it's own inheritance?