Just Imagine, My Love

"I'm Not Afraid"
by Jill Scott, from Beautifully Human: Words and Sounds Vol. 2

I'm not afraid to be your lady
I'm not afraid to be your whore
I'm not afraid to be your future
I'm not afraid to be your soil
In which you plant your seed
Flowers, they sprout for me
My fragrance in the breeze
You must nurture me please

I'm not afraid to be your baby
I'm not afraid to be your strength
I'm not afraid to be open wide
I'm not afraid to be glutinous
The essence of glue
I will stick to you
Through earthquakes and moods
If ever one thing was true
I'm not afraid to wind it, wind it
I'm not afraid to keep your pace
I'm not afraid to create my queendom
I'm not afraid to take my place
I'm not afraid

When he touches me, tracing the lines of my natural form—teasing the skin that loves his fingers pressing against it—I cannot forget that one day another will do these same things.

He may touch me more affectionate with fingertips soft as cotton that dance around the platform made from my stomach—the fat jiggling as his fingers happily roam—and make me forget about the loving fingers of his predecessor. After sliding that hand from the performance stage to the valley hill below, trudging through the fiery flowers—curly like roses without the thorny pricks—to the trickling creek cut through the valley center. He may dive into the depths of that watering hole just to thrash those dancing fingers about, testing the boundaries of the liquid-filled abyss. A swimming exercise in progress, his fingers kick to the surface for air only to dive back in with the vigorous determination of a man desiring the satisfaction of a job well done.

The valley suddenly rises, opening up more to let him venture deeper and as it moves, a female’s coo of delight echoes across the land; the valley continues thrusting and requests more, more, just a bit more. We move together, his tapping fingers and the water source, increasing the speed naturally—a loud scream vibrates within our world, as I release massive flash flooding, the very real indication that Mother Nature is completely satisfied. Sighing with happiness, he rubs a hard and rusty hose against my leg to signal the desire to screw it into the free-flowing river that puckers as it opens, dying for the sensations of this boat ride.

He who comes next must live up to all that I have now, and fathoming the possibility of anything better is more than difficult, for I have everything I want in a man already…

Except for the preexisting wife and the ‘safe’ distance between us. Even so, it is his touch and sentimentality that I love and crave the most; those fingers drawing the me that he sees—that is the sweet bliss some call Heaven.