Her First President
Bondage was good for us.
"Master-me,
you are me taking me.” She was right,
I would lose myself in her.
She’s related to George Washington,
A man of his time.
A black girl for all times.
George is silent.
Mind brings her to me now
as she arranges
the form and flavors of desire,
her flesh a sensual braille for shaping hands,
limbs a binding chimera,
flesh capturing flowing silks -
a choreography of her muted history.
Inarticulate passions lock us together,
we are deep sea divers
pushing against an erotic gravity.
Somewhere in another story,
an aged Washington shoves his shriveled member
into another young black woman.
Should we honor both?
Dark is the page we now turn.
Truth or not, love or maybe.
Once we were most pleased
to burn down the president's mansion
again and again.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
