Posted By Afro-Awesome Guest contributor
On Jul 7, 2017
By Annonymous and Enamoured
Lover.
My heart painfully contracts inside my chest and feels too tight and too big all at the same time. I have watched you from afar for some time now.
Intrigued at first. Interested in your appeal.
You reminded me of a girl I used to love. A girl I still love. You looked like her as you swayed to the music, head bent to the floor as if you imagined yourself elsewhere.
I have fallen for your hair and the ink on your skin. Your big scarfs and short skirts. I have fallen for the way your words speak to mine like they have danced to soul music together, kissing each other’s fingers and internalizing a deep desire to be loved and seen, to love and to see.
I imagine that you will physically ache and your breathing will become laboured when you think of me.
I imagine that we’ll both be shy at first but we’ll remember that our words have slow danced together before and we are not strangers.
I imagine that we’ll lie in bed together on Sunday afternoons and you’ll breathe me in and tell me how no one gets wet for you like I do and you’ll ask me to do it again and I’ll remember our words dancing and I’ll gush.
I imagine we’ll lose whole weeks.
Lover.
I have fallen for the way you have seen my desire. The way you write about women. The way you write about me. I have fallen for the recognition of myself in another. The relentless love of black skin on black women.
Lover.
I have fallen for me and in turn have fallen for you.
I have imagined your words about me. Instead I write them now for you.
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