you hope you know it, but you really don`t.
Brother, you see the way the wind swirls her dress,
The way her nails turn inwards into your skin in ecstasy,
The way her caress feels like a feather on you,
Soft and comforting, there and not there,
You don’t know.
Let me tell you what I was told,
One day, my old man with his old African accent,
His whisk stuck between his legs,
The edge of his kiko perpetually hugging his lips,
`Don`t think you know them,
Even your wives, and daughters,you really don’t`
They are masters of the play.