Dear You Know Who (a love letter poem)

Date: Today

Dear You Know Who,

I fought against the temptation to pen you.  Because putting you into words, might be the worst thing I could do.  But I’m doing it anyway. As someone as smooth and delicious could easily stray, unless I pen you right now, here, my way.

  In just a few days you’ve got to me.  So sincere.  So gentle. So manly. At first you were only electronic… an email, a text. Next: a voice, whose dulcet tones and non-premeditated choice of words, was all I waited up to hear... every night…at the end of the line. And in the daytime, I found myself steeling against the temptation to.bombard.you.with.a.deluge.of.SMS.messages.to.your.phone. Didn’t want to scare you off, or come across uncool.  I’m no fool! And although I don’t like playing games, sometimes you have to.  Till you don’t need to any more.  You know the score.

Then when we finally met. Stop.  Let me tell you how much I wanted to meet you: As much as the mountain wanted to meet Mohammed; as much as oxygen needs to be carried by the bloodstream; as much as labour pains want to scream. I tried to avoid a scheme.  Instead I wanted you the right way.  With you wanting me as much.  Never thought my luck would lead me to you. But it did.  And although I hid at first, my pleasure in your smile, your eyes, your embrace; you saw through me all the same. “You checking me out, girl?” You said as I walked your way. And YES I WAS.  Cos you looked FINE. And from there the day progressed.  Score: A Perfect 10, over ice.

Lunch was nice… check that… lunch was delicious.  As I wished to be the sauce on your lips for you to lick and “mmmm” as it slid over your tongue.  But that was to come.  ‘cause we left our Italian and walked and talked and learned about each other sons; past loves, past dislikes; how to avoid future spites. I could sense every sinew of you.  My sweet, icrecream dipped, coco flavoured lover to be. Then you kissed me.  

Two atoms collided. I was divided into twos and threes as you pleasured me passionately. Hands on the nape of my neck, just the way I like.  You never went further than that. A gentlemanly touch. Instead you drank ever-y-thing up that I had to give back, with my kiss.  Right there in the park. Sighs, like love starved teens. Grass between my thighs. I creamed. You hardened. Our souls shared the urgent burden. And I knew when my spirit took my steely will and made me whisper “Giving him something he can feel” – that. This. Was. Real. 

Now don’t get it twisted.  I’m not just a lustful sista.  I can see the vision of our future, of you and me in life together.  I can see so clearly that I am blinded by faith. Hope is my white-stick that is feeling for you, leading me closer to you in mind, in body, in spirit too.

See, writing this is tempting fate.  But it’s too late! I’ve already released it to the urban universe.  Let it do it’s best or worst and then be done.  I’m gone.

                                           

I feel you, You Know Who.                                          

Love, Me