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The taste of hormones

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A happy African American man and woman couple in their thirties sitting at home together cuddling & laughing.

 

I could smell him… taste him
The smell of sweat, taste of hormones
Bringing me headfirst
To the place Id call home
The rock hard acknowledgement
Rose to meet my hand
as i snaked towards it, amazed and possessive
Like a child to a new toy
I touch, tentative at first
the rumble came again
And I knew this meal couldn’t be savored
He couldn’t wait
I couldn’t stay
My juice seeped
His swimmers screamed
I let him lift me
I let him part me
And with me sheathed the sword that begged
To be covered and protected
Silently I whisper
“You’re safe now…”
Though He couldn’t hear
He believed me. And proved it
In the thrusts and the scratches
In the firm placement of my feet
At the middle of his back, holding
Him for fear that I slip
And fall into that oblivion of need
Not to feed myself, but to tend
His gaping wound and bleeding sores.
I held on
He went on
It didn’t matter if he was mine to tend
Or mine to give care
Like you can’t choose who births you
Often times my dears
you can’t choose who you’re called to tend
He touched
I raked
He pushed
I pulled
mouths met
And passed spirits
Souls touched
And then tap danced around
In celebration of each other
A silent tapping dance
To music only us could hear.

by

Alasooke Omo Olakunle

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