HOT KNIFE; bitter butter

I love screaming.
And I love you.
You’re the headlights of a lone black car,
I wanna step into.
You’re a bar of chocolate,
I wanna choke on.
You. Are everything,
That is dangerous yet so appealing,
A Hot knife, yet I am butter.

You,
Are the Afro of the Jackson Five,
The bellbottoms of Kenyan athletes,
Parading ‘fore President Moi for a medal,
The Nyabingthi drums in a Marley song,
You. Are old, intertwined with new smoke.
A breath of fresh butter,
In the midst of gunshots, and cries of war.
You.

I love thinking about you,
When smiling to meself,
Look at you,
When the world looks my way.
Because yes, I do love you.

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