Luh…

The anger you feel being loveless is but a myriad of soul ties that trapped you, hanging between your legs like a noose-a phallus to ordain to your unborn son whom you, mold out of red clay from a sea of lost thoughts.

Lying in sanity, Glitter residue from your gold line your bathtub in a ring of his leftover dust, while in prostration scrubbing his stench away from your corpse. You exfoliate, to peel away his musk, pieces of beard and brawn both pubic and not, and hope the tears mixed with the solution creates a remedy while you cry underwater.

‘God is near‘, you whisper, as the suds of past lives fall through the crack of your buttocks dripping slowly like fallen soldiers he affixed into your purity.

This vanity in baptism, rising to fall only to rise again from ashes of Everclear, Sativa, cloudy semen, and Drake, surrounding your newfound flesh with hopes of new beginnings.

You grab your robe on the hedge of the door, dress your corporeality and curl next to a pillow in the cold November night, as each bump protrudes proudly as your Earth kisses the bitter air, only to reminisce for eight hours of trauma to the delight of Fallen Angels in the night sky about how your melanated spirits danced all night under moonlight.

*I was inspired by Ntozake Shange’s “One”…and the work (pictured above) by Adama Delphine Fawundu. btw, “luh” as in “I luh you.” Love is desired but only luh is available.*