Our lips have yet to kiss
We develop our connection, intimate
Calling you on the phone so refreshing
We touched and cuddled under the blanket
After we, in unison made the same sound
Your words so intricate, poignant
I can't even repeat or paraphrase them back.

I was born in the wrong decade you say
You prolifically take in me, my art, my insides
Discussing them and listening
With a rapid ear to the earth
I try not to compare and contrast my past
Its an added bonus if it becomes romantic
You said, comparing that to ice cream, a sunday
Surprised by your immense patience, understanding
I'm in that place where I need a minute
We discuss how we are in a relationship with ourselves
With our careers
I smile sincerely as you curate and deeply discuss
Actively listening, glistening.

My mama just about ruined it for me
"He's black."
She said to me over the phone.
It was just like a megaphone had been taken over
By a group of aliens
They gargled and salted our flesh
Judging and caging us, attempting to restrict
Connection, depth
I stood up for you, for me, for all of us
We couldn't even discuss how my weekend had gone
The disappointment and mourning in her tone
Because your skin just happens to be
Several shades darker than mine.

I don't get it
And I don't like it.
It reminds me of when I was in high school
A boy named JJ kissed me up against a wall
He was the all star athlete
I was the art queen
The Southerns whispered behind our backs
You had a red rose on the front seat of the passenger seat for me
You were immature and too silly for me, in the end
But I'll never forget the deep heart break
And young trauma
Of being told by my father
That I would ruin the family
Get my little brother bullied
If I went to the dance with you.

And maybe my father was right
And maybe he was deeply wrong
And maybe if we had all fiercely stood together
We could have made a strong dent
In the history and repression
Of the deep south.

25 years old
And its like I'm being told once again
Not to go to the ball
I told my mama its highly possible
I may not end up with a white man.

I don't know.
I never seem to right this moment
But Chicago is so cultured, so diverse, so
Just filled with art and people
Surrounded by new faces and places everyday
Its really, truly
Very overwhelming.

"He's black."
He's black
He's black
As if this fact were shameful
Or a reason for me to run.

But mama
I've run all my life
I've spent my years running
And I don't know what this man
Or what anything means right now
But I'm tired of running.