From Resurrection: A Collection of Work
by
Robin G. White
 One on one on one on one on one One on one on one on one on one Lovers by the dozens they come In and out and in and out and under In and out and in and out and under Lovers switching lovers; having fun. We have bodies soft and strong Bodies big and long Hard to the touch Wet for a tongue Switch Watch our Nubian visions In rainbow earthen shades Of black and golden-red, Tans, yellows, browns. Taste our African flavors Sweet enough to eat. Coffee, cinnamon, honey, And caramel-chocolate creams. Now stroke her ample thighs And kiss her big brown eyes Caress her corn-rowed crown And lay her wide hips down. Make her come for you And call you, "Daddy" too Now, take it like it's yours From behind her on all fours. Feel the warm moist heat Taste it sticky sweet Pump her as she lies Harder as she cries. I can feel it on my face The sweetness of your taste Arousing my desire Setting me on fire Help me douse the flame Oh Baby, stake your claim ‘Cause once you've tasted Black You never can switch back. Two by two by four Three breasts, maybe more Two lips kiss a mouth Before they can head south To fill an aching need With rhythm not with speed Another lover's next To taste this sistah's sex One on one they'll feel Bodies hard as steel And one thing you can bet Their pussies are soaking wet I can feel it on my face The sweetness of your taste Arousing my desire Setting me on fire Help me douse the flame Oh Baby, stake your claim ‘Cause once you've tasted that You never can switch back |  |
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 In the luminescence of our darkened room My hands dance the pas de deux of lovers On a stage of breast and nipple And the furrows of deepest Africa. They dance to the ancient chorus of maiden ancestors And pound the beat of many drums: Hebron de Brasilia, Tainos de Borinquen, Cherokee And names of Africans long lost To enslaved and colonized tongues. Tongues crying over upturned kettles And voices singing in hush arbors To Oshun, Goddess of their understanding For deliverance from a white King Jesus. In the luminescence. In the luminescence of our spirit-filled room You sing the song of our ancestors The jazz song waiting to be sung And speak the poet's Words waiting to be spoken. Between syncopated breaths And on the upbeat gasps of our loving You moan the unsung songs of Billie and Bessie And speak the unclaimed words of Zora and Lorraine. Out loud. Out loud for the many who could not spell their name Zami. Or could not find their own Sweet Honey. In the luminescence. In the luminous glow of the moon full, rich Pouring through unseen lives And shining on soft fades and coarse locks And onto skin dark and darker And breasts cupped to overflowing And onto thick middles and small waists Among gray and black silken threads And heads that bob while clearing the path To the Temple of My Own Familiar Onto generous hips and ample thighs That tremble with the anxious loving Of our ancestral nature, I am ultimately aware that you and I Do not visit this land of shadows Alone. We do not dance this dance Passion filled, arms and legs akimbo Rhythmically challenged, beat to a different drum Stretched, bent seized and spent Drowned in your pleasure dance On our own. Nor do we dance it to a new tune. We dance to the chant of Ashanti women, We cry it with the "Aiyee!" of my father's people and yours, We moan it with the "Heya!" of our Native matriarchal ancestors Among the shouts of, "Yes, Jesus!" and the "Oh, god," Our own liberation theology, proclaiming a new gospel. We are not alone. We are not alone in our words Spoken in the still of night Illicit forbidden words, filling pages and libraries Free falling from bookshelves to the safety Of illuminated rooms and minds. Free-falling from lips to ears, whispered into pillows Shouted into pussies And muffled from one mouth by another Swallowed with deep burning kisses And breath. Breaths of life. Inhaled deeply, Exhaled loudly Shattering walls and windows Letting in light Creating a world without shadow Without darkness. Luminescent. And not alone. Breaths of freedom Cried out beyond sheets and bodies entangled Beyond whispers into shouts Shouts against injustice Shouts against Prejudice that ends with bodies mangled Because of the color of skin Or whose bed they slept in. Breath. Breathe. Light. In the luminescence of our room I inhale deeply the breadth of our love. A love not without cost. Not without history. Not without pain. But a love. Our love. That folds itself in our soft whispers, And releases itself with each panting breath. Our love That with the play of the light On my fingers, on your breast, and nipple, Loves itself. |
Used by permission of author.. All Rights Reserved.
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