White Boy, Black Love


The rivers care nothing for the color of the mountains,
while the sea kisses the curves of the shore
no matter how adumbral the sand.
My skin against yours is a study in contrasts
yet the flavor of your flesh thrills with voltaic zest.

So many external differences get lost
in the heat of lust’s fire for release;
our tongues sweetly dance in pink abandon.
I don’t give a rat’s ass if you are street,
as long as you don’t mind that I wrestle words.
Thick and juicy is worth more to my mouth
than pale and freckled, your skin is maddening.

My mouth on yours gets lost
and I would have it no other way.
The soft sweet of your lips
drowns me in my loin’s fire.
Your sugar baby nipples come alive
under my pale thumbs, rising to the challenge,
filling your moist with musky heat
and my head with nasty ideas.
Your strong hands push me and pull
directing me to where you feel the most.
You know what you want
and I am enslaved to frenzy,
intent upon devouring your sex.

Together we rise up
while we get down to the dirty.
Your dark berry makes my white Irish shine
as our limbs tangle in torrid heat
igniting sparks whose tiny stars
will never dim, even if they never catch fire.

No shame in entering through the back door
I know your friends would not approve,
and my desire for you outweighs my distaste
for racial politics, my need only knows
that all cats are grey in the dark.

©2014 Christopher Reilley

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