I am ready for you to breathe the same air as me. To be kind
and inspiring with me. To be emotional and throwing bricks with me. I am ready
for the laughs and gossip sessions where we asses why people are so stupid.
I am ready for the compliments and pleads of love and extra
kisses. I am ready for the jam sessions in the car and harmonies. I need you
like the dessert needs water. I need you for the spell of skin lightening on my
cocoa butter skin.
I need a calendar. I need a strategist. I need head of
logistics. I need my year planner. Consortium buyer. I am ready to family and
familiar with you. I am ready to decorate and frighten the neighbours’ kids
with ya.
I need a shield and evade the rains of terror. I’m ready for
your manhood to mess up my womanhood. Whoever you are I’m ready for my ass to
be black all over you. For my tears to be the fuel to correct all the wrongs in
(our) world.
I’m ready for your view. I’m ready for the dimensions of
submission and nurturing and catering and satisfaction-ary love. Do I even make sense to you. Some guy said to me I’m random today. I wanted to ask
him: “So do you want a medal bitch”?
Get it real and keep it real. I’m OK with you being the love
of my life, are you?
