Speaking Softly: Passions, Communion & Detente


The day has been long. My throat is healing but has little to offer by way of words. My mind is clouded and defeated from hours of constitutional jujitsu. My spirit is tangling with the fire of burning churches and the brimstone they seared into my young, queer psyche but my heart..

My heart returns

to you.

It sings songs

of your solitary beauty

and gregarious glee,

a laugh that melts the

most frigid of scowls.

The heart illuminates.

It has shown visions of

interlocking mohogany

flesh basking in the

glow of the Cosmos,

as they smile at a

job well done.

The heart hears.

I can hear yours too,

beating,

because, at times

 I carry you

in my spirit

like the joy of a coming

revival.

The mind speaks of life.

My mind awakens to remind me

of the reality of distance,

infancy,

youth

and the foolery and deception of

fiery affections,

of JD’s and PhD’s,

of GPA’s and timezone

delays of affections and

growing, unquenched desires, longing

and the danger of

difference.

The heart is resolute, if unsure.

The heart returns to you,

like an eagle to the mountain’s

peak. It yearns to ask,

“what is the cause of your silencing beauty?”

while pondering ways to take your hand

in a love-crafted, two-step

to bliss in a life

or purposeful,

holistic

loving-kindness,

revolutionary forgiveness,

and earthshaking

copulation.

A Detente.

Until then,

I send kisses

from the waves of the Atlantic,

longing for the promises of

your balmy, black embrace

and glow in the light

Of your unassuming brilliance.

And with that,

I bid you

Good Evening,

Dr. Laureate.

Follow Tabias Olajuawon on Twitter @BlaQueerFlow. Like our page on Facebook at BlaQueerFlow & Tabias Olajuawon Wilson.

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