Mr. 3000, is Your Heart still...Ice Cold?

"....... & the Love Below". DAMN! Honestly, I painstakingly resent the lack of wave not had especially by black men who didn't take to The Love Below. Says so much for such a little bubble pock universe of this multiverse I dwell in.

This is were Childish Gambino comes in, right. They're both going grey with eyes that read ride me hard put me away wet so, I guess.

I would lay atop my blankets rubbing my toes together visualizing what being a fly on the wall around such a spirit would be like.

As a sapiosexual listening to the Love Below by Andre Lauren Benjamin gave my grey matter and happy bean hard flowing vibes. Fairly certain that's when I realized who I truly was.

My cherry stem just fell from me after listening to 'Take Off Your Cool'.

A rush came over me that I'll never forget.

I could see myself, I could truly feel me.

I wanted to be seen unclothed for the first time. Not to be touched, or poked and prodded at. SEEN. Touched only if I wanted to be touched and how I wanted to be touched.

Jimi Hendrix, Andrea Benjamin. DUH!

Talk about a cross faded fuck and fight, fight and fuck sensation.

What a sensation to witness, one Voodoo Child musing the other. Who needed a script, great writing none the less but.....just talk you beautiful black man inside another black man, black man!

NO shame, wet, sopping WET spots.

Am I alone in having it about me to be lustful for the broken hearts and scattered minds of men with a certain light about them. Yet, a gal herself must have the ability to heal self as well as a man with a dark passenger. A ride and die only to bring that soul back to life.

Having lost myself on the journey of being myself and here I am. Leaning in to being consumed by souls who are vibrating at frequencies so high they avoid the rest of us, rightfully so. We couldn't truly be capable of receiving them in full and there's very little most could offer that would fulfill them.

What a capacity, a million pints for a cup that flows over in gallons.

What do you stink like? Whats the last thing you read? Where are you going and can I come? Would you want to taste me before you talk to me? Have you planted the seeds you want or is that not you? It's okay, don't freak on me, I'm not asking you I'm just thinking aloud. Would you let me hold you if you cried? An ask.

A kitchen, my own bathroom, a PIC to go grocery shopping with for randoms and lower frequency gossip I'd giggle at because we all like the messy at times. Then there's you....meet me in the garden and take what you want sir. I'd hold my breath and take the risk of passing out while gripping the terra beneath me. Can feel the soil packing under the bed of my nails already.....watching the water run brown as I slowly wash my hands. Standing at the sinks basin in a torn shroud with your Sunday morning brunch running down my thigh. You'd say it was all my fault and all you wanted was to look at the heirlooms coming in. And the way you lie would set me aflame.

Waking to reality I'd have to truly ask,'Who did you say I should reach out to and ask about the zoning for the housing concept?'

So, Mr. Benjamin. Is your heart still ice cold? Or can you teach a girl how to play her Mitchell Mini while flowing between conversation in a burka six feet apart?