junebugpoetry

[junebugpoetry]

YOUR MAN - POEM

It’s around eight’o’clock, and my palms are sweating. It’s been hours since you left, mouths full of the secrets we’ve kept. You begged me to stay when I had to go, So I made you take back when you said I was someone you’d never want to know. I tilted my head, far enough to try to kiss her. The look in her eyes makes me think she’d let me. So I’ll be your man, a husband, A soft finger along your back to help you sleep. I can still hear the dragging of your legs as you slipped into my bed, without a creak. We started by doing this once or twice a week. You’re my girl, so I will treat you as such. I’ll pick you up in my red cadillac, and we’ll kiss in the backseat. I’d take you to my favourite diner, and we’d share a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream. I’ll give her my bomber jacket, with the number etched ‘sixteen’ and kiss her fingers when she looks at me kindly. I get on my knees for her, daily, and pray that she’ll always keep me. She lulled her head back, a starless sky before her eyes. ‘Is it true that you love me?’ And how could I lie? ‘From the moment I met you, until the day I die.’ And so I decide, for you, I’d be a husband. for you, I’d be your man.

[junebugpoetry]

SOFT SKIN LOVER - POEM

Soft skin on my tongue, I’m in love, I don’t want you to run. You show me around your favourite spots, and kissed me by the Joan of Arc statue in Paris. Golden like your smile. Tall like your pride. Gallant like your stride. Take me out to The Louvre, Put a hand around my waist and tell me what life would be like if we lived inside the paintings. ‘I’d run away, pack nothing but my finest wear. And a picture of you, of course. So I can look at you twice at once. Then we’d set off and raise a family away from all those splotchy white men on white war horses.’ A kiss on the cheek. Then we’d be able to go back to the chateau, And talk for hours about silly hypotheticals. A woman has found a place in her heart for me, finally, after all these years. Soft skin lover, Find me speeding down the winding roads in the South by the sea. Keep me company under warm sun rays and colour-blocked houses that reflect against the moon. Pull the Renault convertible over, wrap a scarf around your pretty head. I’ll slot sunglasses over your nose. When in France, my dear, anything goes.

[junebugpoetry]

NEPHELE - POEM

I grow the vines that hang from the clouds to feed your growing desire. The daughters of the rain sing to me, but nothing compares to your symphony. Vapour collects at the apple of my cheeks, and evaporates as I reach release. I am far from Olympus. But you, find yourself stuck. You reach your fingers through the dirt of the earth like the undead reaching for escape. The roots of the trees from the vastest rainforests have burrowed themselves inside of your bones. You taught me how to find peace in the moss growing on the stones we used to skip, when I would come down from the sky. Gold glistens from the soles of my palms as I grow blackberries from my finest leaves. I plan to spread the juice across your lips, and watch deep mulberry liquid drip onto your collarbone. I will kiss it. Hoping I can feel the touch of the sun.

[junebugpoetry]

SEASONAL FRUITS - POEM

Sometimes, in the mirror, it seems like my hair resembles a mango tree. My flyaways look like peach fuzz, and my cheeks are plump like a tangerine. Brown-bodied women tumble down purple carpeted stairs, oots of belonging are exchanged as we sit out on garden chairs. Don’t forget from where you came, lick your fingers and be reminded of the taste. Blooming mango trees and laughing fits. Crystal waters and crimson gates. I wish I could’ve seen the look on your mother's face.To understand why you are the way you are. To feel the sense of connection you took away from me. Auntie says I’m as bold as the summer sun, that my hips must attract a special someone. The skin I wear is yet to tear, and I ‘deserve to have some fun.’ I’ll open myself up, and let a woman peel me like a papaya. l feed her cherries under a glistening moon. I hope when I’m older, I’ll find that I was able to climb to the top of a coconut tree, and pluck the fruits of my labour. Power lives within me. Justice is her roommate. I was always taught to think for myself. Raised by a flock of women of high proclaim. ‘An ignorant black woman is as good as lame, if you hate yourself, they win the game.’ I’ll work hard, I’ll be my best, and I hope that my daughter does the same.