PS. Tumbler hates line breaks…
How I learned
Marvin Gaye woke up that morning
took his coffee with 2 sugars, light cream
and read half of a good article in the paper about a family murder.
He brushed his teeth in the shower,
sang Al Green under
the hot rain, hit high notes behind the ears.
His woman played in his scalp while he ate,
rubbed oil into his low fro
shining his crown, she asked why he never shaved.
Later that day, after a pair of clean draws,
he had a photo shoot. No sweat, easy
something quick, no pause in his day,
so he arrived, said cheese, but was distracted
by swaying hips with a bass line,
attached to ample bottom that sang like Tammie used to.
The picture developed with his staring to the side,
checking out a backside, wondering how to touch
her waistline soft enough to knock her dress to the ground.
That night, after a quick bite and a slow drink, under the blues,
he leaned into her ear, and like the lover he taught us to be
told her, “I been really trying, baby…
Trying to hold back this feeling for so long”
and now I’m standing here on the corner.
Her hand, mine, we sweat like a prelude.
There is a something in this summer air
that is making music of our bodies
our tongues like guitar riffs, throats
bellow moans from the bass of our chest
hips snare into each other, we are trying
to make songs squeeze out of our secret
need for skin and silence. Our bodies
are young and clumsy around each other,
we stumble down streets that whisper
our names they heard from alleys around
around noon time yesterday when we discovered
what happens when two humans exist in the same
place, same time. We arrive at her bedroom,
fumble belt buckles, bite necks, her skin full
of teeth, I sing into her throat
everything about love
that I learned