Cheap Thrill.

Come here, bring your money and your time.

I want to speak about the women with naps curled on the backs of their necks and skin the color of a spoiled banana; sweet, dark, and soft past the peel, they are regarded as a free luxury of the world. A kissing booth for a quarter type of girl. A box-top reward kind of chick. The free day at the art museum sort of woman. The one with molasses in-between her and silver glowing in her iris is relegated to the idea of a nickel play. The Black woman now denies the societal derangement she was placed in and demands that you speak to her with the tone of a man ready to lead a kingdom. Come with unfastened arms and a delusional persistence when courting a black woman. Be so deluded that one may think you were bitten by her. You see, her sharp corners require a good sand-down, a smoothing over. Now don’t get slew footed, come on, there are babies to be placed, but her womb needs softening first. Melt her down with a buttered tongue and pad her home with yeast. She will tell you to stretch out your hands and work them through her thickness and into her shielded scalp. Her back needs kneading, also, the cracks need sealing. Dance until she falls limber and willing, unable to deny someone so crafty and sure. Entertain her into a woo. Perfect the request. Sour yourself at odd hours with thoughts of how to subdue her. Anything less deserves to be denied and disdained, there is more there, but much must be given to receive it.

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