I wanna fall in love to Frank Ocean,
groovy blond hip-hop soundtrack to emotions,
lust like black lips or the motion of hips thrust,
slick with Astroglide, cocoa, shea butter lotion.
I wanna fall in love with eyes open, lights on,
stretch marks wide, white, wanna hold them,
finger birthmarks, zebra stripes
deep as canyons less lonely, wanna
turn us to commotion, blast
cannons, all brown fist, balled up,
silent protest, groaning.
I wanna fall in love buying groceries,
deli sliced pepperjack, split top wheat
bread, miracle whip and bologna.
I wanna fall in love at Crossfit, IKEA,
at my local Denny’s or Shoney’s.
Homegrown love, seven syrup pancakes,
sticky thick raisins in sun. You can own me.
I wanna be your badass midwestern
domestic chick, cook you chili with
cornbread, twelve cheese macaroni.
Our first dance will be Ginuwine’s “Pony,”
delirious bump and grind. If you’re horny/
Let’s do it. Ride it. I wanna take
you all in, see you entirely,
so show me.
And until that day comes, I’m hoping
that God has a plan for me. I stay open
to that. I pray there’s a spot in Heaven
for us. I kneel and imagine I’m golden.
I pray that one day, a California senate won’t
take away rights to buy baked goods.
Let the motherfuckers eat the goddamn
cake. And sometime in the future,
I pray my adopted daughter
will be black and proud, that she
never grows up, stays safe from guns,
cracks earth to fat hemispheres,
reads books and writes poetry.
Stays young and alive. I pray
I stay open to that. I pray. I