I could write a poem about black berries bursting after midnight. I could describe salty, sweaty, caramel, cocoa, toffee colored skin. I could tell you tasty stories of full, juicy lips sucking and kissing wet and sweet. I could tell you about rough, weathered hands tracing sensuous circles that send shivers giggling up the skin. I could write it all down. But I wouldn’t be true unless I also wrote about daddies disappearing after the juice of the berry was no long a wet spot. I need to also tell you about bodies that birthed a nation, being silenced by a backhand slap, And I can’t ignore b!tche$ and ho's replacing Sistas and Queens when the lights are no longer down low Or bedroom eyes that have read the writing between more than it’s share of thighs. I could write it all down. But I still would not have told you anything about True Black Love. By experience, I’m an expert on when it’s missing and what it’s not. So when you look at me with those shaded thoughts lurking in your eyes, Realize! I know that it’s not love you want to put between my thighs. And you can’t have me without my story! Without its juices, a berry’s just a prune. If I buy your tired lines from now on, I purchase only a one-time use. If you truly want more, accept it’ll take more than a night for me to trust in you. Even at my peak I will not lie and say it’s yours when you want to know whose it is. You see I have thought I`d found Black Love, then woken up on the other side of the moon, with love’s absence bursting my bubble and reality coming too soon. Those mornings I live a thousand years and packed them into one. I took baths in tubs of my tears to drown foolish evidence while its scent lingered on. I have been blue, yellow, red, orange, green, purple and brown within the blackness of my skin. I have eaten bitter words and sour dreams when I hungered for that other passion deep within. Yes, I could write a poem filled with fiery intensity. Spell out just what I want, what for me it needs to be. But there is no formula to Black Love, no exact way to get it right. Still there would be no promise that’s what we’d find within the night. That gamble I can handle. That’s not the issue I’m trying to explore. It’s the disguise, lies and faking and then the sneaking out once more. Don’t hide behind the words Black Love if you don’t know what it means. If you know and do not want that, give me the choice to stay or leave. I might still want to tangle with you, even for one night. You may not have been my choice either for a long-term firefight. As long as we both know what we’re seeing when the clothes are on the floor. tomorrow I will call you an experience as I smile and walk you to the door. Now I’m not just talking about one-night stands, though you can see they have their place. This is about more that a sneak peak. It’s also for those desiring a long-term look. Then too you must come correct if you’re stepping to me ---who has witnessed delusions of Black Love in all its woes and pseudo victories. I`d rather be single, die barren and all alone than to let you ***** with my mind and have me shed more tears after you’re gone. I`d rather keep my midnight Black Love as a yet unfulfilled distant dream, buy batteries and not be deluded about why this love the sun can never see. My Black Love will only be reaped after it’s been fermenting over time. In its maturity it will bear precious fruit, but it will get there like the finest wine. So though I’m wiser, I haven’t grown up even as I write these words. I know one day I`ll make a home, find peace with a soul that mates with my own, f or my skin is still chocolate, my berry is still ripe. I like those encounters, but I also look to starting fires that burn for more than just one night. So if you’ve got a flame that can outlast the rising of the sun, we can talk about True Black Love, Other Passions, Other Ways to make me Cum!!!!