Terrible sexts for lonely nights #4

​In New Orleans, they have a jazz fest 

this time of the year, and the men 

who play the best sax 

are always dark skinned, 

and the audience, they say 

‘ain’t no nigga who can’t 

play the sax real smooth’

But I’ve picked my afflictions with care

and tonight, the only thing I caress till

she sings four pitches high and wakes

the neighbors up, will be you
You’re a musician yourself, you say

and I don’t disbelieve you 

for one second

the way your tongue 

makes waves over mine

isn’t very different from

fingers on piano keys

the way you pull me close, and 

gasp, and move your hands over

the contours of my naked body

isn’t very different from hands 

exploring the curves in a trombone

you pull me between your thighs

hold me there till my breath feels

like fire, on your crotch

and I’m reminded of how, in seventh

grade, you humped the wooden cello 

and between your legs, the notes

turned to water
They say, ‘ain’t no nigga who can’t fuck 

the way, sticks touch them drums, hard-

but like a poem- meant to put you at ease’

tonight, you make me take you, in my arms

you make me look at you, and you say,

look how your skin meets mine, 

like the sand

meets the sea, 

and when I push myself inside

you with a moan, you call it a flood
You straddle me, and push me

to the floor, you look like the sun

spilling into the darkness of my skin

you slide so easily on me, it feels like

being back in the jazz club, and

letting the breathing flow into 

music, you put your small hands 

on the vastness of my chest, and 

heave yourself up, and

let yourself down, and

the sound of your skin

slapping against mine

is sweeter than any music, I’ve made
Then suddenly, it is time for the climax

it is time for me, to rise 

into a crescendo 

and when my breath 

fails to hold, gush

And you rest yourself against my body 

and let the world slip away, 

they say, ‘ain’t no nigga who 

doesn’t fear dying twice as 

sooner as others’

And it’s probably true, but when I’m 

in your embrace, or 

when I flow, in your hands

death doesn’t feel like a scary thing, anymore

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