I have not tasted the clear,
sweet, idle summer day’s
waters,
nor have I fell asleep in fretless
slumber,
my lover’s body entertained with mine,
our brown, clean lines–
bodies smooth and rittled with
untampered pores, melding together as
one.
Despite the barrier of my pink, healthy gums,
and straight white teeth,
the murky, tasteless waters of
lust,
sips through the cracks
that refuse to mend–
sliding across the slippery surface
of my obstinate, twisting, curious
tongue.
The water rushes as it pushes
past the cracks of my
reserve.
Slick, pewter gray rocks,
drenched with seeping, dark waters,
trip,
and splash loudly as it catches on some moss,
fragmented,
as sounds of my ecstasy are drowned by the currents.
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 