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,
an unrecorded blood tie.

Her flesh is a sensual braille for shaping hands,
her unresisting art a deft choreography
of her once mute history.
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 unturned.

Symbolically, in our own way,
we both took pleasure
in burning down
the Presidents fine white mansion
            many-many times.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2024

Poem

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