For My Brown-Skinned Woman

Transcript

It's not often that I wake before you. The sweet thing would be to put the percolator on and let you wake to the smell of coffee, but then you'd wake up and I'd miss the most beautiful part of my day. I sit here in the dark, watching you sleep in my bed.

The mornings come, the sun will rise soon, and with it you will wake and lift all that hair up from my pillow, and that pillow will smell of your lotion until I reluctantly drown it in the wash. Your scent, at least, I can keep for that long, but what I cannot hold on to is the way the sun paints you as it reaches through my window. The golden undertones in your skin shimmer to the surface, awakened by the morning's kiss.

Shadows slide beneath your arm, your hip, your thighs, each limb a warm contrast to my cool silk sheets. Silk charmeuse, to be precise. You pick the color.

I used to have linen sheets and cotton pillowcases. You used to wear your hair up in a silk bonnet the nights you stayed over. I asked why.

You told me about frizz and moisture. You told me about cotton's inequities. You told me at length about your curls.

So the next time I took you out, I took you shopping. It was a bold move, I know. You kept eyeing me.

What does this mean? You asked. Doesn't mean anything, I said.

I need new sheets. You ran your fingers over the silk. This one, you said.

But it doesn't mean you're staying over more often. I know, I said. But you did.

I am so jealous of the sun that I am tempted to take its place, eclipse the light and slide in beside you and run my palm down the line of your body, follow that curve into the cliffs and colors I so adore. For you are of many colors, and I have kissed them all. There is the hue of your skin which the sun now reveals, like the fertile earth welcoming me to plant my seed, the liminal edges of your hands and your feet like you have touched and walked on fire, the dark lipstick you wear that brings on madness and its traces remaining on my collar.

But of your many colors, I sing this lustrous morning to the black orchid between your legs, how it beckons and it begs me, how I tease your sighing mouth with kisses only reserved for her, her lithe and luscious sister. Her flavor cannot be compared, though I have tried to find a poetic means of describing that delicacy, the taste of your cunt, and how do I describe its shape when it shifts to suit the situation? For the workday all business, for viewing only, not for consumption, though when it's teased how it opens and grows bold, and after it has had a visit from your lover how it reposes open, engorged, and glistening.

Sated, if only for a moment, hungry the next, and how I love to feed her. I love, I love the shape of you on my back wall when the sun hits your body and throws your curves into vanilla scented shadows. I love the way you walk, I love the way you talk.

I love the size of it, your voice, and the way it bounces off my walls when you laugh or moan or make demands. I love making you louder, I love shutting you up. I love your confidence, and I love your just perched on the edge of a smile sensuality.

I love you like I love a challenge. I love that you don't give in until I will and truly win. My reward is the daddy that passes between your lips.

Your compensation is being my good girl. The sun continues to rise and with it the sidewalk crowds with faces of every shape and hue. Soon yours will be counted among them, but not yet.

For now, you're still mine. Though you've claimed the bed for your own, this is my world and you are unquestionably my queen. I cannot wait any longer.

If I let you wake on your own, you might make a rational decision, kiss me quickly and hide my favorite parts of you with the clothes I so haphazardly arranged on the floor. I stalk you around the room, crawl onto the bed as soft and sleek as a jaguar, and kiss my way up the dark slope of your back. Don't wake up, I command, as you stir beneath me.

Maybe the bed is too soft, maybe you don't know what time it is, or maybe you don't really want to go either. Whatever the reason, when I slide my hands around your front to cup your naked breasts, you sigh into me, not away. Don't wake up, I repeat into your ear.

It's midnight and this is just a dream. You whisper, it's not midnight. I whisper, you are my midnight, the beginning and the end of my days.

You tell me that's corny and I squeeze you. Would you have me murmur to you any other way? Your body invites poetry and I lay more verses upon your radiant skin.

What time is it, you wonder, and I tell you sleep and dream of me. My lips moisten the back of your neck and I lay my body down upon yours. You purr as the weight of me crushes you to the mattress, sinks you deeper into my palms and the shaft of my manhood nestles between your buttocks.

We are locked together now, soft puzzle pieces sinking in. You stretch and sigh beneath me, captive and captivating, and my lips roll round your throat, round about midnight, and I whisper, sleep and stay. Can't sleep, you tell me, and flex your ass, someone's on my side of the bed.

Whatever side you're on is my side, I remind you. All of this, I tell you, wrapping you tight in a thick bear's embrace, is mine. And you're asleep.

You don't know what's happening, I say, as my lips migrate to your mouth. You twist beneath me and all that hair on the pillow makes a sound like a crowded subway, sweeping and piling, brushing and rushing as I lick your full lips and suck them into my mouth. My arm snakes down your front to grip you by your womanhood.

My orchid, unfurling, ripening, wet. Your thighs slide open, oh what time is it, you beg me. My time, I tell you.

You raise your knees for me, I want this every morning. The obedience and sound of you taking me while still half asleep. The sigh that escapes your lungs as I fill your moist canal.

The way you squeeze me when I bottom out. The way you wrap your legs around me to pull me deeper in. Daddy, you moan, welcoming me home.

And I kiss you, kiss you awake, kiss you helpless to do anything else but worship that mouth and buck into your luscious sex. Oh, I love you, I moan as I make love to you. Don't you ever leave my bed, woman.

You smile and tell me you have to go to work, but you meet my every plunge, even so. This is your work now, I tell you, and pay you in kisses that flutter over your throat and jaw. Am I that good, you ask me, and I answer that no one is as good as you.

No flavor more delicious, no moan more dulcet, no thighs more seizable than yours, mine, ours, you whisper, and I say, yes. We have made one whole upon these silken sheets, one body, one breath. You move with me, gasping, waking.

You can't fuck me forever. You tease me, but will you let me try? You toss your head back on the pillow and tell me, yes, yes, yes, daddy.

And I plant my seed in you. I love, I love the shape of our hands laced on the pillow together. I love your teasing tongue.

I love the nails that skate down my back and that moment, just there, when your knees fasten to my hips and your body quakes and you run out of teases. I love you before, and I love you after, but especially here, in the moment you cling to me and whisper your truth, and I whisper back, I am yours. I whisper back, you are so beautiful.

I whisper back, I will never, ever, ever let you go. It's not often that I wake before you. I'm sorry I didn't make you coffee, left you only with cream.

I offer to run the shower, but you tell me, mm-mm. You know that game. You have to walk home.

You have to do all the things that women do to get ready for the day, and I hold your hand at my front door, lacing your bronze fingers through mine. Stay, I ask you. You bite your lip and tell me, really, you have to go.

Stay, I say, and you consent only to another kiss. I trade it for two kisses, and you laugh inside my arms. If I don't go, you chastise me, and you won't have time to miss me.

You slip from my hands, so I must fill them with time. Time to make the bed and linger over the scents of you and I. Time to shower alone and soap your kisses from my neck.

Time to sit down and write you a love letter. To your brown eyes and exquisite crimson heart, from my woman, from your man, Benji.