to taste and savor his delicious love.”
An ex-lover calls and I still feel his whole spiritual energy. He feels the sadness in my voice and asks me why I’m so not full of energy. I partially lie, talk to him about his work and life. He tells me he understands, that he loved me and is worried about me. I flash back to evenings in bed with a broken heart, to nights after a joint with my current boyfriend and some munchies, hip-hop playing in the back ground. He tells me about the workshops he’ll be doing to further his music skills.
The boy I’m dating loves me to death. maybe it’s because I’m an open heart with too much care. I tell him everything I’m thinking. Distance increased fights between us, but I try to tell him it’s none of that. I fuck him in his bed anyway and not let him cum inside me.
Somewhere is a story about a girl with short dark hair and brown eyes thinking about how terribly alone she needs to be in this new life. Somewhere is a story about a girl and her longing and her hair and her big eyes and herself wondering what she’ll look like when all that past leaves and there’s room for more of her. This is a story about a girl with her sadness and her weed and herself.
And she stands, like a strand under the wisdom tree, she is the everlasting ashes caught in whirlwind of time, captured by words that only set the scene for her imminent departure. She belongs only to the sway of oceans tides that are pulled by the moon’s constant flirt with the mortal plain, and…
Southern trees bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the popular trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
Strange Fruit by Abel Meeropol