So…

So we met.

So we didn’t meet.

Actually we sat in a car. Looking.

Mmmmm not really.

I pressed his bones, his slim physique, his pubescent skin. He said my skin was like butter. He couldn’t stop telling me how beautiful I am. I wasn’t interested. I was in awe of his brooding eyes. His alien trajectory, his jumble of accents, Lebanese poetry, fast, hard, hot sex. He pulled my hair hard, I melted in his grasp, like butter.

The mixed race, the brown, the more anti whiteness than the black, the melting of the imperialist canon into pan African, wokeness.

He asked for McDonald’s, I asked for certainty…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.