I forget

I forget what exactly,

But it’s something in the way it’s always summer.

The nights are always short because

The sun cannot wait to kiss your bare neck at dawn.

I forget what exactly,

But it’s something in the kink of your curls

And in the slight smile on your lips

And the slow curve of your hips.

I forget what exactly,

But it’s something in the way your eyes

Smile at the world,

Some greatness hidden in the brightly gleaming

Mahogany irises; freshly brewed mocha.

I forget what exactly,

But there’s something in the way Light

Softly touches your skin playfully

Dancing along the curve of your back.

Never drowning you in him: not ever.

He contrasts you from the mundane

And says, “look at her”.

I forget what exactly,

But it’s something in the music

Of the way you say the words you speak,

Dispelling the atonal sameness

Of these random sounds we call language.

Music waited on the fringes of reality

For you to be born so he could come

Say hello to your soul. And

You live in his arms, intertwined with him,

Like a braid.

I forget what exactly,

But it’s something in the clothes that you wear

And the way you braid your hair

And the way your black skin is a canvas

For the kaleidoscope of batik patterns

Floating on your head wrap.

I forget what exactly,

It’s something that is within you

It was given in your blood and

Lives in your skin

And demands what little

Breath I have left for life.

Olori-elewa.

"For all the black women I have loved and who have loved me."