My black lady quickens my heart
Woman of the tropics
She brings heat
To my cold northern soul
With her bubbly swaying hips
And her liquid cherry kiss
Upon my lips
We meet each morning
In the same café
And I hold her in my hand, making
All kinds of plans
While the juke box plays
Some say our affair is wrong
That she does me some harm,
Guilty for my restless nights
Or for passions run too high
It’s true there is some bitterness
Between us
But to sweeten it would be a lie
Better to love you all I can
Until I can barely stand
To wake the racial memory
And listen to the beat
Of the blood rushing
Past my eardrums
Calling me to the tower
And the water
And the tree of life


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