Intelligent Sex

She wanted to know if I could taste a three or see the color of birdsong. And I said, “Have you looked inside my brain?” I hear the heat and dark of coffee calling on my tongue—threes taste of Crossroads at midnight, and birdsongs are rainbowed. All right, I didn’t say any of that. But I sure was thinking it, and that has to count, right? What I did do (say that thirteen times fast) was craft a poem with my answer in it:

“Intelligent Sex”

His grin tastes of wicked books
flirting in a library
made of whiskey and dance.

“May I feel your thoughts?” I say.

His eyes touch my hips with a Yes,
oh yes!
that is all passion-
flower and maca root to my ears.

Are you mine? I feel him sing.

I let him taste the answer
in the arching of my back,
in my pulling of his hair—
I am woman, my skin screams,
I am all mine. But I share
when I want…

…and right now, I want

intelligent sex,
red-scented… tasting of Jazz—
aphrodisiac

.
the wee notes…
– I first wrote this poem as a haibun, but it didn’t feel right. I trimmed the prose and created line breaks, but left the haiku untouched—that bit felt just fine. And in case you didn’t notice, I should point out that this was a freaking blast to write.
– Maca root and passionflower have been said to enhance female libido *cough*.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Synesthesia, and to Prompt Nights ~ “Women are the real architects of Society”.

A Sip of Baileys in My Skull

“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…” ~ Terry Pratchett   

Wails are absent,
today. There’s Bachata music,
and stubborn tears
gloss my grin—
because I always grin

on February’s end,
when your voice spices
my memory,
when coconut milk simmers
with brown rice and pigeon peas,
under a bed of fresh plantain leaves
(because the original taste matters…
when crafting memory
back to life)
.

Wails are absent,
my heart.
But the cauldron is cooking
your favorite meal. And music,
oh yes…
there is music in my kitchen
and a sip of Baileys in my skull.

.
the wee notes…
– Today is the 3rd anniversary of my little brother’s death. I celebrate his life by cooking something he liked, listening to music he loved, remembering him as he was—flawed, generous, hilarious… a fantastic dancer with the superpower of smiles.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform, and to Prompt Nights ~ It’s in an old kitchen that the best food is made.

Unchilled

“Childhood’s a collection of lies.”

“Really?” I laughed into the phone, and my back spasmed. “Where’s the evidence?”

“In memories suggesting I used to wish for snowstorms”, she said.

“I have a copy of your ‘Come Snowstorm Come’ spell, glued to the front page of my ‘Warrioresses Survive Together’ journal, which corroborates your recollection.”

“I forgot about that.” She laughed and then cussed.

“Pain’s getting worse?”

“Nah, just the cold carving sour nothings inside my bones.”

“Let’s take the chisel and eye-gouge the bastard.”

“Together”, she said.

“Always”, I said, and the warmth of our combined laughter unchilled the world.
.

for Robin

.
the wee notes…

– Linked to Friday Fictioneers. Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, to join the creative fun. Follow this LINK, to read what others have brewed out of the photo prompt.
– Also link to Prompt Nights ~ Come chase oh fleeting thoughts of the moment. Sanaa invited us to celebrate World Thinking Day (Feb 22nd), by catching up with a friend, and writing a poem (or fiction piece) based on the conversation with them.

photo by Sarah Potter