by Versai
I met a woman in a bar-
a beautiful brown-skinned woman
who had decided to
try for the Jada Pinket look.
Quite brazen she was-
flicking her tongue at me
and squirming on her stool.

I was hungry,
she was easy
how could I turn her down?
I bought her a drink.
She smiled and rubbed
her breast against me,
accidentally, of course.

She laughed and tried
to make small talk,
as if she didn't already
belong to me.
I could see it in her eyes-
what some of your kind
call the weariness of the
soul.

I put a finger over her lips
and offered her the
freedom she had only
dreamt of. I asked her
to give it all to me
her pain
her suffering
her torment
her weariness
and she would know peace . . .

Her hazel brown eyes
filled with tears and
she nodded her acceptance.
I brought her to my bed,
the place were I've
freed so many like her

We began to
make love.
mmmmmm
feeling her
flesh against mine,
feeling her breath
against my cheek,
feeling her body jerk
and tremble when the
pain became too much.

That look of terror on
her face when she
understood what true
sacrifice meant-
I almost took pity
on her,
but the aphrodesiac
of her pain mingled
with fear drove me on.
I still remember the
taste of her red nectar.

To be free from pain
is to experience it.
She could have
found her own
path to peace.
Instead,
she put her soul
in my mouth
and thought I would
not consume it.

Copyright © 1996. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.