When the night is clear and the star’s up
Black skies, the wind violent enough
I sometimes call her the devil
Cos whenever I see her from afar
She comes racing arms wide,
shining; teeth grinning
Black braided hair flowing
Her oval face placed on her perfectly curated body
Hips-thighed intimately inviting me for a meal
Her eyes: milk and brown
piercing right through my dusty old soul
And when she somehow catches up
I, sweat pouring down like a donkey working hard for evening hay
Her scent, intimacy propelled
My young heart crashing head on,
barely any beep-able tune heard
She casually leans onto me and boldly whispers
her voice softly dragging me out
“You are mine, dark skinned boy,” her red full lips words out.
“What in heaven’s gates do you mean?” my eyes asks her.
Another grin and she bares all.
So again and again
when the sun’s just ripe
enough to fry egg
My bare feet on modern paths
I take race, back into the incoming sunset
She, I’m sure, amused,
watches that “dark skinned boy with his heart intact, running away from any signs of death”
Or love she might call it.