Her Words To My Music

Her Words To My Music

Wow! After all these years You'd call; didn't even think You still had My number. Ray Charles, Etta James and the other troublemakers were on My jazz loop. I shouldn't have answered the phone. "I've got to tell somebody", You said. I guess the distance had made Me sister confessor. "I met a man at work; I'm considering...She won't understand". She is the one who replaced Me.

She, is what I'm not. She is meticulous, stud in a refined way, down low in the community, musically gifted. Hangs up Her belts on separate hanger, has Her clothes arranged by item and color, drinks high dollar liquors. Loves jazz; Loves Her.

You love down home blues. You, iron your underwear. You cook a mean gumbo. You have a jealous streak as fierce as Your kisses. You once loved Me. Me, writer; has My clothes arranged by seasons, and favorites. Loves African blend coffees. Loves all kinds of music, leather and fetish.

She is the one You would call me about; crying that She couldn't give it to You the way I do. The way I did; that made Your voice go from alto to mezzo soprano; Our all night glory holler. When I had You shouting so loud, our Hispanic neighbors looked at Us the next day; the men guarded, the women smiling at Us curious. Do you plan to tell Her, I whisper. Cautious; like Sting warned about walking on landmines.

This sounds like a blues song Don't Let Her Catch You With Him. "No." Your voice b-flat minor against My ear. "I don't want to hurt Her". Like I hurt You? My statement rises between Us like a duppy; a hain't whose mission is to hurt. "You were honest with Me, You are an honorable woman; I didn't understand at the time, You did me a favor". Time has absolved Me in Your heart.

I can remember when I was She and our grocery store shopping ended in 'fun with food' on My mattress; a zucchini, a huge caramel roll, honey, insertables and lickables; You were My buffet. I ate candy from Your mound, sticky toffee from Your nipples. When I was He, You said a dick couldn't handle You. My fingers held magic. Your breathless gasp when I would enter You, fingers crushed in Your pleasure.

When I were We, You held Me tight, My shirt ripped; My name chanted. I put my smooth mix on loop; Incognito, then Bob James then a block by Rachell Ferrell. Are You happy with Him? "I thought I could be...I'm not sure". I echo Your fears; 13 years is not to be taken lightly. "I'm not". "I love Her". Then like my sister says; "that's not the hint, that's the answer". You laugh remembering my sister and her hi-jinks.

Did We ever have this much at stake? I know the answer. It saddens Me. I cradle the phone to My ear while I turn up Our favorite song; when We were Our and We had a song. I hear the smile in Your voice. "Starting something You can't finish". Oh, I can finish. "Can I call You again, if I need to talk?" Always, Beloved One. I hear Your smile again as you ring off. I turn up Our song.