I have often dreamed about your eyes
I’d draw them small and round, with a drop
Of honey-brown and a shade of surprise
And your nose, thin and firm
I would dream that I teased them with my breath
just before I arrested your lips with a taste of your death
And we would be, as though we did not exist–
as though, nothing mattered like the meeting of lips,
And then we’d stop, and then i’d smile
And i’d turn on my bed, and dream the dream
Like I still do.
© The Short Black Girl, 2016.