have You ever
mourned a love
that never got
to grow, stood
on the edge of
id and ego,
measured the distance
in touches
and kisses,
scoured the
grit
from behind
your breastbone
and found
the space left
hollow?
i say things
with my lips
that to speak
would be cruel.
i want You.
*kiss*
i need You.
*lick*
i love You.
*bite*
the cruelty is
my inability
(unwillingness?)
to follow through.
i close my eyes
when i’m dancing
when i’m riding,
when i’m trying
to exist, without
navigating
being seen.
“Look at me, please.”
one black experience 