“Explaining to my husband how sex with a woman is just…different than sex with him. 3/30”
It’s like when you talk to the valet, babe –
about your car’s little…quirks
When you watch him harpoon the interior
with his ass-keys and wince at their teeth
When he’s a little rough with the key so you say
It slides in gentle, or it’ll stick in the same way a
father tells his son that you only kiss her if
she says yes and then pray to god he listened
Then you move on to the interior light set up with the
replacement LED’s that plug into the cigarette lighter
And the static in the driver’s side door speaker that can be
fixed by clicking the lock/unlock button like you mean it
And how if he isn’t gentle with the key, he has to just yank
it out before cranking it all the way to off and ignore
the ding ding dinging reminder that now he has to
A woman knows all the ways you have been
Knows every spot on your body
where the bruise is too afraid
to corrupt the horizon of your flesh
but she tenders it anyhow
A woman knows the entry points
of your trauma without holding
the bullet between her teeth
She can love you out of silence with
a breath held under her tongue and
your name, spoken talisman to what
grows when you are loved well enough
Making love to you, my husband, is a glorious
and stretching thing, dynamic and stuffed with
Sometimes I come undone so swiftly I can’t even
catch myself before the fall, but another woman..
Another woman knows how you drive without
Salts her tongue with the language of you
burning in her mouth, a prayer that begs to be spoken
We are the mechanical yes of the universe in all
of its glory and thunder and I wouldn’t change
a second of the way we click together
like the happiest key into the most slick
But a woman does not need to be told
how to hold you in your imperfection
She does not need to read your body
when she has a piece of your spirit
growing summer wild in her own
amandla
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