Thoughts after Imperfect Enjoyment (2016)
They provide so little too imperfect enjoyment fixated on the grind and sway of practiced hips. When did I put in the work for another's pleasure. Was I no longer a treasure?
Was this my sin for diving into unmarried sheets and practicing infertility night after night. A dismal praise to the sexual twilight. What a bloody hell between my golden thighs as I think why
Why i shudder under weight not my own to atone for social pressures yet I slept alone. These lips met strangers and craved a friend beyond one night mingles that did not satisfy the sexual tingle
Yet i arise to meet the next in a list of not tender tinder or meet a gender bender. It's boring, I plead seeking love in lust when I'm the romance in a dance of one. This isn't fun.
A solo act that starred duets that warranted memory of attacks, under the warmth of moonlight tears were shed and I prayed that my mother would forgive me.
Forgive me mother for I have sinned again and again wondering what enjoyment was produced at the head between my thighs with the resonance of pleasured cries.
Dare my hands wander over a committed man who paid for my attentions in compliments for my ebony skin. Black women win, he said. White covered my skin.
I shudder dear mother at imperfect enjoyment I find none but need all. I'm sorry I lied, the virgin in my eyes knows how to succubus in the world of cruel and greedy men.
I know the world, the dark world in the sheets, in contraceptive plastic and in chains. I'll kneel to worship the tool of sin for that I'm sorry I lied and lie some more, no longer pure but the maiden whore.