Afterwards

A Feeling That I Never Knew

by Anonymous

I still remember how you used to kiss me..
One kiss was never enough, You had to kiss my forehead, each cheek, my nose, and finally my lips..
That was my favorite…

There was something about you…
A flame in your eyes and a tenderness to your soul that I never knew… It intrigued me..
Drew me in like a moth to a flame..

You emanated passion.. When you made love to my mind & body it was slowly, meticulously, vulnerably…
It was as if you were trying to peel back every layer of my being until I was left bare…
Left naked…

What we had was real, it almost felt like it was destiny or divine timing…
But it came fast & it went fast..

I’m Writing this so you kno that when I think about you I still smile…
There’s a shock thru my body and a tender feeling in my belly…
I Indulge in those feelings..Hungry…Greedy

When I hear jazz music my spirit smiles..
When someone mentions spaghetti I giggle to myself…

You Inspired me to open up my horizons & perceptions…
to what true intimacy feels like…
to what a real man looks like…
to not be afraid…
to be brave and love fully…

But most importantly…. you inspired me to write…
So I am writing….
About You…

 

This Too Shall Pass

by Jamil Rashad Ragland

I just smelled your pillow. Or is it back to being my pillow already?

It’s still your side of the bed. It was my side. Sleeping next to the wall. But you told me that you liked that side of the bed. And I liked you. So it became yours.

I don’t want to lie there because it still smells like you. Like some cheesy ass R&B song. Like something Bobby Brown would say. Who you also liked.

Venus really is in retrograde. Ain’t that a bitch? I learned that from you. My moon is in Aquarius, your sign. Air signs. Plans not grounded in reality.

Summer was really great. Really great. I kept it in the back of my head, “This too shall pass.”

I wanted holiday sex. Veteran’s Day sex. Thanksgiving sex while we tasted the grease and flavors of the day on each other’s lips. Martin Luther King Day sex.

You smelled like soap, like someone who had to be clean for a living. Airy. You became the 301st thread.

The scratches on my shoulders remind me of you. I like to look at them.

You called “Letter from Birmingham Jail” poetry. You were the first person I told that I’ve never read it.

You encouraged me to write.

So I’m writing.

About you.

 

Photos by Alex Jones and Rene Böhmer on Unsplash

Share This:

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.