Mud Hands

Written by: Katie Pukash

While love was fading out of you
I held your hand,
charcoal brown like there was mud
in my palms.
Tightly, I clench,
for I had never held a hand before-
a hand of such glorious color.
Your pigment
against my skin,
I’m pale – like paper,
like snow in December,
like my Mamas mashed potatoes,
like your teeth
on my tongue – I feel you
penetrating my pores.
I taste you 
like chocolate – deep, dark, and bitter.
Your sweet makes me taste sour.
Consumed by your presence-
my entire weight-
my entire grip – gnawing-
on the ventricles of your heart.
Do you feel me?
Can you feel my color?
bouncing sun off your moon,
day off your night,
clouds off your stars,
milk off your coffee,
pouring into you – blending,
creamy.
I sip you.
Still deep, dark, and bitter,
I kiss you.
Rest my head on your chest
and sink in like a lotus,
like a flower being planted,
melting,
beating,
swaying,
living,
breathing,
praying.
I kiss you.
I savor.
Through the steam crested mountains
I place my finger on your nose,
then my nose to your nose.
I savor.
I savor.
I taste your deep dark beauty
and savor,
like your love was fading in and out,
like the sun behind a cloud,
the ocean and the sea
touch me.
You grasped my hand so gently,
So gently.
I lifted my gaze and told you 
I’ve never held a black man’s hand before. 
And that tasted so sweet.