She is soft where I’m hard,
She is hard where I’m soft.
Her lips taste of honey and pepper,
Supple, moist and inviting.
Temptation is her song,
Lust is her rhythm
And she resonates to my beating heart.
When we’re together, nothing else matters.
Except that we have work tomorrow and I shouldn’t be too long in leaving. Her parents are coming over for a visit. Why tell her in advance? It’s not like she’s doing anything untoward, and bills need to be paid and what am I wearing tomorrow? and we should call our siblings, see how they’re doing, visit them even, and when was the last time we went to church?
I bury myself in her hair, her smells,
Rub my cheek on her skin,
She purrs contentedly,
Secure in our eternal embrace.
I touch her, trace all her curves,
Taking her all in. She is majestic.
Except that she’s self-conscious, sometimes she feels ugly and I tell her she isn’t, that she shouldn’t be shy being naked around me. I love her body. I tell her this. She doesn’t seem to believe me. That she has morning breath, but I still kiss her, and she tastes just as good. That she’s had a long day and can you just let me shower first?! And, what are we having for supper? I don’t feel like cooking. I joke, “You.” She is not amused. I’m offended. That used to tickle her silly. I tell her it’s alright, we can have a sandwich or an omelet. I’m not that hungry anyway. She doesn’t seem to believe me.
I enjoy our conversations, she opens up like a flower,
I ride her voice into the beauty of her mind, her heart.
You should talk to me more, I think to myself. She is beautiful,
The beauty of broken things being restored before your eyes.
She often breaks into song, and lilts for emphasis when she speaks.
Laughter plays in her mouth, ready to pour out at a feather’s touch.
She is the Queen of Smiles.
Except, she snickers, sometimes ruefully, giggles rarely, more winces than smiles. She doesn’t talk as much as I’d like, she opens up a little, then goes quiet, lapsing into herself, talking about not us, not her. She tells me about this bitch in the office and who the hell does she think she is, and how she’s been having random conversations with some motherfucker on WhatsApp, and wah, did nani tell you what happened?! Aki, imagine!! I have to fill in the gaps, whereas to her I’ve disemboweled myself. I lay bleeding and open to her. Why won’t she talk to me? I’d like her to laugh with me, smile for me, make me laugh, laugh for me, the way I do for her.
She reaches out and touches me,
I touch her back, hold her close,
And closer she comes. She doesn’t want to let me go,
I want to drown in her embrace, gel with her,
mixed and mashed, one as the love of the ages, pop-culture love.
Except she doesn’t. She always seems to be in a hurry. You should go before it gets late, I need to go back to the office. I should get home before my mum starts worrying. I’ll see you soon. Don’t worry, we can meet up some other time, si we’re awesome like that?
I love her.
Except I fucking hate her. Damn this heart.