With her pinkie finger she anointed my forehead with honey.

With her whole hands she scooped Shea butter from a calabash and oiled my body

from a small jar, she covered my shiny skin with cinnamon

and dabbled cherry juice into my navel and goats milk behind my ears

She took a honeysuckle vine and braided it into my hair and laced cowery shells around my waist.

She kissed my feet and painted them with vanilla

Never speaking, never uttering, she pointed to the ground which showed a peacock feathered path

that I was to follow..

Naked and alone, scented and damp, I walked along the path, passing through trees, and sticky

pines, walking up rock and through muddy ditches. Stumbling and sometimes falling, but steady

on the path that she laid for me. With no sounds, no rustling of leaves, no birds

flying, just complete silence, and me.

I walked, and walked, hours on top of hours, naked and sweaty, sticky and tired, I walked...

then, like a whisper, she appeared, she smiled, and put her arms around me

she gave me her shoulder to lay my head, she held me close to her as we walked...

we walked over peacock feathers,  dirt, and bone. 

We walked and walked until we reached a clearing..

The river..

The river..

She rushes in, and pulls me along, tugging me into the water, 

tired and hurt, I hesitate, She beckons and I follow

Gently she pulled, deeper, and deeper, we go

My toes grasping the bottom of the water.   Walking, deeper and deeper

We go, until water is covering my head...

Stretching to keep my head above the water, struggling to stay afloat, 

hopelessly it covers me.

She comes behind me, and pulls me backward, i fall into the water,  underneath I reach, and whirl,

my thighs hit the river bottom, my heals scrape the dirt, in anguish and desperation

I try to pull myself up,  with no avail, I fall deeper.  I try again, and I still fall deeper.

Afraid, I seek her, I feel for her, I cry out for her, through blue, I see her, smiling.

I reach, she takes my hand and lifts me.

Now, facing me, she kisses me, and washes my eyes,  She holds my head close to hers, 

then blows air into my mouth, with her hands holding my cheeks, she squeezes and blows, blowing

cool air into my lungs.  My chest rises and falls, and she still blows until I am calm.

 Gently she grips my shoulders and pushes me again into the water, but this time she is holding

me, she soon lifts me out of the water and pulls me close to her, with necessary ease she

embraces and holds me, lovingly she takes my hand and leads me out of the river.

As if I were fragile she helps me to sit,  while seated she dries me with banana leaves, and

with her fingertips she traces my wounds, and blows warm air on them. 

As the wind blew she

disappeared just like the whisper that brought her.

You step lightly with soft toes

Tender pats

Stepping around me
 

Sending chills at my lower back

Tickling my belly

Blowing at me 

Whispering

Pacing in circles that surround me

Penetrating without penetration

SWEET SYMPHONY

It is an anthology of soul-loving Black Folk

"I'm sorry".... please don't let me disturb you from your sexy things...

Your provocative things,

your forbidden things,

your secret things...your childhood dreams,

your adult fantasies....your hollow and muffled sounds buried in your "secret" place

Those things-- that you sneak too....

Those things-- that you creep too...

Those things-- that you finger thru, ogle at, gaze at and awe with jaw dropped mouth,

glaring eyes, and suspended look...

Your hushed whispers, your blushes, your sweaty palm things....

-those things.

I would hate to interrupt you.

How could I dare be so precocious to try to cut into the dance;

(the dance between you and your sexy things)

Your tantalizing things, your daydreaming things.... Your hidden things....

-those things....

However, it would be against all that I am, if I did not wonder and question if I

was one of your "sexy things".  "Am I one of your sexy things?"

Am I one of those antique things? 

Those treasured classic things?

Those delicate, delectable tender, sexy things of yours?

Am I one of those things that tiptoe into your day, that blocks your thought?

Am I one of those things that disrupts your sleep in the middle of the night?

Am I a remembered forbidden sound from long ago?  An undeniable and unforgettable

delightful smell? like your "sexy things"?

If not, what should I do?

What can I do to be your deep tucked away treasured thing?  That thing that's at the deepest part

of you?

WE RIDE

What if touching brought about change?

What if a revolution started because of a kiss?

The act of deep down loving, has to be more than what the T.V. makes it out to be.

It has to be more than T&A, doesn't it?

The essential element of love covers all barriers, doesn't it?

Are all Human Beings capable of loving? instead of acting? 

Something deep inside of me, wants so badly to believe in the simplest form of love.

That simple love that our past "Saviors" needed to cure the world.  The drops of love that Mandela

watered us with, the love chains of Sadat, that tried to close the gap of nations, the pure sprinkles

of the Dalai lama aimlessly spreading love crystals worldwide.  What kind of love is that?

Is our nighttime love any different than 'Our" daytime love?

What if love didn't have to a defining standard?  Just simply love, no conditions, no expectations,

and no justifications.

Loving at the deepest part, the simplest forms,  with undeniable conclusions, with unbreakable

results. 

Loving effortlessly without stipulation.

Loving genuinely, loving generously, loving easy.

What if the thing that we want and need the most,  the very thing that we strive hardest for, flees

because the mere conquest is just to rough, just too much, just too forceful and spoils the flow.

Maybe (IT) has to be free flowing like atoms, like water and air, easy, and breathable.

Gentle....

Is it my eyes that hypnotize you? 

Is it my speech that wakens you?   Is it my touch that arouses you?  Is it my thigh that attracts

you.  Is it my thoughts that enlighten you? 

Is it my walk that distracts you?  Is it my dance that entices you? 

Is it my breast that nourish you?  Is it my poem that sings to you?  Is it my fingers that guide

you? 

Is it my smile that humors you?  is it my backside that makes you dream?  is it my neck that

motivates you? 

is it my face that wonders you.  Is it my chin that sparks creativity.

Is it my hips that allow you to think of tomorrow, the hips that reflect greener pastures and the

"birth of a Nation".  The hips, that rotate on albums of "i know I can, do it, be what i wanna be,

timeless anthems, Minnie rippleton, Donnie Hathaway, Coltrane, and Puente beats.

My hips.  That move and spread, and glide.  Like a futuristic glide, a matrix, a change, a growth, a

seed, a cypher.

                   OR....

Maybe, just Maybe, it's just my way.

The way, i sound, the way I sweat, the way I cry, the way I sing, the way I sit, the way I cross my

legs, the way I bathe, the way i sleep, the way i eat, the way i stare, the way I "humph", the way i

stand.

the way i choose, to be just Me.

BLACK BEAUTYS SONG

I sing on top of mountaintops
 

I sing at births and weddings
 

I sing at jazz clubs 
 

in Hip-hop clubs
 

Reggae fests and
 

Auditoriums
 

plays and musicals
 

parks and supermarkets
 

bathrooms and bedrooms

I sing of into the night talks and 5 a.m. runs and walks,
 

Of holding hands while walking through the mall
 

Of tender back of the neck kisses and gentle ear caresses that mimic it all
 
I sing of black on black love that stood through thrashes and rapes
 

A love that stood through hound chases and over the broom disappointments
 

A love that floated to the top of the sea, above tarnished ancestral bones
 

A love that passes through prison cells and ghetto walls
 

A love that crawls over mountains and dances through high

grass                                                                                                     
 

I sing in your ears babies
 

On my knees baby
 

I sing of good mornings and restful nights
 

Red roses and bottled wine
 

Lingerie delicacies
 

Secret fantasies
 

Loud love and hushed moans
 
I sing of hope and resurrection
 

I sing of peace and friendship
 

I sing of warmth and comfort
 

I sing of kisses and tears
 
From blue-black to the lightest of the beige
 

From nappy to the nappiest
 

From the tallest to the shortest
 

From the thickest to the bony
 
I sing black-beauty’s song
 

Loud and soft
 

Hard and tuff