Give me a scent of coherence
and something still living. An evanescence
that is real, and brilliant and shining
in the sweat that tastes of grief, and loss
and oh so much fucking strength.
It rolls off your body in such force, with such grace
that I know you just want to lie in my arms
and lick my fucking face
off of the floor. I need a little bit more space
to grow heady and strong. I need you to
break me out of stupid, unthinking ideas
about race.
Sexualise someone else
with your Orientalising gaze. I smell
a fact. A prejudice you can’t take back.
A very particular and fine-grained disdain
that hugs and presses against your body
oh so intensely. Lay
it all on me, and don’t try so hard
to engage me
on things that I definitely don’t want to say
to you.
Get the fuck away from me
and leave me to my own beautiful
redolent views
of my own hopeful
radiant, indulgent and very fragrant
gragok hues:
brown.
Choklat.
Pesisi.
It’s the sound of something new,
and the smell of someone living oh so freely.