the soles of his feet were the foundation of a greek god physique. his legs were lengthened; muscular, beyond well-defined. his ivory teeth all set where they should be like the stars in the sky aligned.
his ***** defined his virility. my heart gasped to catch its breath as i gripped his manhood. already i could tell he was trouble. yet, little did i know, he was surprisingly humble.
the sculpted 8-pack hidden underneath every shirt, that hung loosely from broadened shoulders, was the symbol of masculinity. without him there’d be no existence of my femininity.
he had a thing for wanting to become one of the “bigger guys”. you know, with the pulsating veins and the bulging eyes. his determination had never ceased. maybe not in body, but in the heart he was a beast.
in my eyes he was adam. perfectly molded from dirt by the hands of God, you see. there was no need to change anything about him, especially the unconditional love he continued to grow for me.
those slender fingers never failed me in times of comfort. wherever they had laid upon my body, a sudden feeling of importance came rushing to me. he made it known, i was his one and only priority.
unlike the man known as “father” who left me shattered. i was a glass vase that slipped from clumsy, oiled fingertips, pieces scattered. “why didn’t he want me?” the amount of times i’ve asked myself this question couldn’t be measured. but you know what they say, “one man's trash is another man’s treasure.”
this new human being removed all of my pain, regret, frustration and spite the moment his eyes locked on mine that one night. and that’s all it ever took. then after a gentle kiss on the front of my hand, and a promise that i’d never feel abandoned again. i was shook.
the feeling of countless monarch wings fluttering in the pit of my stomach, was all the proof I needed to know he was real. with every beat of his heart, all doubts were killed.
for he yearned for longevity. he fought for peace. he lived for happiness. he prayed for love's keep. his neck held the scent of his ebony skin. the exotic collision of lingered cologne and sweat from practice filled my nostrils and made me think thoughts of sin.
lips, full and pink indicated ****** needs and ****** desires. he’d brush them against mine not knowing it was only adding fuel to the fire. a slight touch behind the ear allowed my brain to send goosebumps running all down to my feet. a stream flown from my womanhood when his hand and my inner thigh would meet. the words “don’t stop” flew from my lips without hesitation. there was a rising from his pants from the thought of pleasurably *******.
languages from different parts of the world rested on the tip of his tongue. they slipped from his lips like a slow sax piece echoing in a bayou. it was something about his range, his tone, his enunciation that had the power to do something to you.
a feature that had always stood out- his nose, boldly displayed the ethnic background from which he came. his ancestors were traced back to their original roots in Africa, the culture was obvious from his last name.
his ears possessed the will to listen to problems, thoughts and even opinions of others before his own. although i knew him well enough to know he’d only release his emotions when alone. somehow he knew when to say more or less, or if being a listener in silence was for the best.
his brain held as the control center for intellect and psychological being. if you weren’t sure of something, he was the one to go to for meaning.
he had owned a mind i had never come across in my eighteen years of life. the day he met me, he’d told me he had found his wife. his dark skin was the protection of many layers, each one a step closer to his soul. is it bad that when i’m not in his presence, i don’t feel whole?
glimmering in the sunlight was his deepened melanin, smooth as the petals of a rose. it was him, the man i chose. and he chose i.
until it was time my temporary lover and i had to say goodbye.

- d.berry