black love

Vibrations on A Hardwood Floor

 
 
He told me his fingers could get trapped in my roots.
And he wasn’t speaking of my family tree.
I was his sugar rum cherry
 Syrupy treat
 And so bitter sweet.
He said I spoke in verse
and giggled in rhyme.
 He said I reminded him of a tune
Too elusive to recall.
 My body was inspiration
 that he could not transcribe.
 So he made it a point to
Commit me
in all my dimensions
to memory.
Incre((mentally))
He became trapped in these roots.
Just as  I feared.
I was his a-
His a(hhh)
His af(firmation)
 His Afr(ica)
His afro
Afro-disiac.
Damn.
 
By Ayesha K. Faines copyright 2007