the old love ain’t working for us;
cramping my style, if anything.
telling me NO, don’t do this
telling me biology is set in cosmic stone
telling me you and me are an abstraction
and that reality is diamond ring handshakes and slumber parties are
for young girls
the old love ain’t workin for me;
not while i’m workin it for you
and we can’t be questioning each other all the time.
the answers you can find at the corner of my lip if you bite down.
i can smell in the fold of your ear.
can’t be questioning when the answers are sliding wet
under your fingers and slipping like secrets from my breath
not while you’re workin it for me;
sweat beads crowd your forehead and trying to drip down to touch my breasts
the way your mouth does