Makayla Jennings
He haunts me in a room with oak floors holding an iron clad bed that holds our bodies. Haloed by the smoke of a black and mild, sitting between his lips. Clouding my thoughts, delicate affliction. In this room. Two opposites made whole, unholy. White skin against a black lover euphoric and sinful on a moonless night. Love is colored red. Conversation blue. Color struck, blinded by the darkness in this room. This room in which I gave myself to him. Allowed his pale hands to lose itself in the rapture of my ebony curly hair. Hungry man, who I wanted to feed. Gave all that I could, asked for you to hold onto me, Desperation—starving for tender bites before turning murky violent. Hungry man, you who took all he could get. Devoured. Took more than what I could give, took more than I was willing. Leaving body empty, breathless, and helpless, wondering: Am I satisfied?
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