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Your kiss, your touch, your attention, your love.

Yes, it’s that simple! As simple as a hug.

Love can be complex but it’s no riddle.

Shall we start with truth? With the real?

Save the, “Roses are red / Violets are blue.”

I’d rather get to know you.

Be brave. Show me how you feel.

Fragrances, flowers, and fanfare are nice

But honesty, sincerity, and subtlety are better.

Do anything but please ... let communication tether

Our union, allowing a genuine connection to take flight.

So what will it be?

Will you risk giving of yourself instead of the world?

It is all that’s needed for this girl.

In the glint of the sunrise, I await you by the sea.

Seductive Sadie

Everyman’s mistress, they pine over Seductive Sadie.

Her studded cotton bloomers are a far cry from her heyday

Of silk pantie girdles adorning luminous, feathered costumes.

Now, a toothless strumpet – contemplating her beckoning tomb –

Hoping the inscription reads, “Good Ole Sadie was such a fine lady.”

ain’t easy

From my perspective,

I'd say being black

ain't easy.

Neither is being female,

but the truth is life

ain't easy.

Struggle precedes categorization.

It is universally human and it

ain't easy.

Frail and penetrable,

the flesh buckles and cries, "It

ain't easy."

Heed sage biblical advice.

Be of the Spirit though knowing being a Christian

ain't easy

either.

The Things We Do

The things we do

for men

to love us.

We transform ourselves –

repeatedly and unsuccessfully.

Transparent incarnations of men’s desires.

The whole while praying

that our devotion satiates their

insatiable fantasies and realities.

The things we do

for men

to love us.

From inception, we are taught

to forsake and to sacrifice.

For men.

Indoctrination that boasts

feeding men’s appetites for food and sex

guarantees their love.

For that love!

Oh, the things we do

for men!

We neglect

ourselves. Our God.

Our children.

We make men the priority.

Worship their beings and relinquish

our babies.

Regrettably, the things we do

for men

to love us.

We open our legs. Wide. Give what’s inside:

our femininity, our soul, our peace of mind.

Savagely, we thrust and grind.

But, there is no crime, no sinuous fault

in carnivorous pleasing. Unless

it devours one’s soul.

My God, the things we do

for men

to love us ...

We, we women, are taught invisibility.

Unaware that we should be acknowledged.

That we – within ourselves – are worthy.

Ignorantly seeking love in the darkest recesses

of insanity.

Finding neither love nor ourselves.

The things we do

for men.

To love. Us.

In March

In March, I was born –

barely escaped being April’s fool.

In March, I celebrated womanhood

in honor of National Women’s Month.

In March, I found love

in my eighteenth year.

In March, I found love again

in my thirtieth year.

In March, my father

died.

In March, I wore Dunbar’s mask

to smile through the pain.

In March, I transformed

from a child into a woman. All ...

In March.

I Love You

During childhood years of playing

Jacks, UNO, hopscotch and Connect 4,

The thought of boys turned us girls into blaring sirens:

“Ewwwww!” We proclaimed with great disdain.

For everyone knew that boys had cooties.

Yet, something about you illuminated. Before I could comprehend it,

my heart sang –

I love you.

I still remember the date and the place:

March twelfth. Two blocks from Carrollton and Canal Streets.

Beneath the cool shade of aging maple trees,

You kissed me – a teen apprehensive about her first kiss.

Warmed by your embrace and the silk of your tongue,

my body murmured,

I love you.

My quivering chin betrayed me.

Tears streamed forward, I could not believe you deceived me.

Your love was mine alone until I learned that it was not.

From shock to rage to anger to hate, you disappointed me.

We changed. Life changed. You returned ... love returned with you.

Forgiveness – I learned its meaning for all that we have been through,

I love you.

Ducks sailed along the pond as sunlight weaved moss-laced trees

To find us standing before family and friends but, most importantly,

Before God. We vowed to love each other as Christ so loves the Church.

Mistrust behind us, we emerged pure and unscathed.

Reminiscent of that first kiss but stronger, more assured.

On this day and forever more,

I love you.

We envisioned it together.

Along a jubilant parade route, within the pulse of the Crescent City,

We would raise our beautiful children. Just you, me, and the babies.

Anna, the first child, who lived and died in the womb.

The lucky one, Charles, wailed – announcing his arrival to the world.

We rejoiced. Rejoiced all three months of his life.

The others bear no names. Repeated loss. Our spirits could not sustain.

Even in those darkest days, through my tearful silence, I maintained:

I love you.

"Cancer," they said. I prayed.

“Why me?” you cried. Nevertheless I tried,

For it was as much your life as mine.

I caressed your cold hands and lay next to your frail body.

In your concave eyes, I saw the youthful boy and my mature groom.

The man that I loved, my love. So I prayed.

You recovered. My womb breathed life. This time

My husband and my baby survived. Surely,