As we lay...

As I slumber, I feel someone sliding in the bed with me.

I realize that it's him.

I notice his scent, like Curve on a hard working, masculine body covered with soft chocolate skin.

He lifts the covers, finding his spot within our bed.

Quietly, from behind, he slides into the bed with me.

I don't even notice that he is cold until he enters into our bed.

Yet, I never open my eyes.

Because I know it is him entering into our bed.

Softly, he wraps his arms around my waist.

I feel his breath against my ear, followed by his lips that glide past my earlobe.

He whispers, "Hello beautiful", in the most sensually calming way that causes my inner girl to awaken from her slumber.



I grab his hand on my stomach as he kisses the nape of my neck.

For a moment he nussels his cold nose against my shoulder, using my body like a heating pad to warm up his chilled body.

Once he is warm enough, he runs his hands up and down my stomach like it's the sexist stomach he has ever touched.

His touch is gentle and soft.

His aura arises me from my sleep.

As we lay together, spooning each other.



Our hands rest intertwined with one another.

Our breaths are starting to sycronize together.

I feel his chest moving up and down against my back

He feels my heart beat relax as his presence calms me.



He whispers in my ear, "How was your day?"

With a smile, I quickly open my eyes giving him a quick recap of the day.

It's usually filled with the normal things: work, class...class, work...work, class, meeting...meeting, class, work...

He adds into the conversation at the right times, and is quiet when he knows I need to vent.

But my tone doesn't change.

No need to raise a voice or lift a hand.

Because I am in his arms, my safe haven.

Where I can calmly talk to him in the beautiful darkness of our room.



I ask him in my bedtime voice, "How was your day?"

He sighs and describes the rollercoaster day he had.

Filled with the normal things: work, class...class, work...meeting, work, class...

And of course missing me the entire time.

Wishing I was around to hug him, kiss him, and hold him.



He always has a way of making me laugh.

And overpowering me with his love, friendship, and companionship.

But in that moment, peaceful serenity always engulfs us.

The television is turned off.

The Ipod is on pause.

As we lay...



I turn around to face him.

He's such a beautiful man.

Full of African features, with endearing brown eyes full of character and light.

His chocolate chiseled body always turns me on.

Somehow his shirt always gets lost on the way to bed.



He looks at me with his dark eyes,

running his hands from my waist to my face.

Taking his time passing all the hills and valleys of my body.

His glance becomes more intense, as he leans in to press his lips against mine.

The moment his lips touch mine, I feel electricity pass through,

Causing my heart to beat a million miles a minute.

As we lay...



My head leans back, resting upon the pillow.

His lips still pressed up against mine,

With our lips parting, allowing our tounges to meet.

Our hands caressing each inch of our bodies.

We continue this cycle of passion

As we lay...



He stops kissing me for a moment.

I feel his breath against my face as he looks down at me.

He smiles down at me with those same trusting eyes,

Causing my heart to flutter even more.

With the kisses, touching, and cuddling,

I think my heart will explode at any moment.

As we lay...



He lays back against his pillow

Opening his arms,

Allowing me to slide within them so he may hold me for the rest of the night.

When I rest my head against his beautifully crafted chest,

I feel his heart beat.

Somehow it's going at the same rhythum as mine.

His hands running up and down my back,

Drawing me closer to him

As we lay...



Before I know it, I wake up.

And he is replaced with a black pillow.

I press my face against the pillow and groan in frustration.

Yet, I pause for a moment to remember how he felt,

How he smelled,

How he touched me,

How he kissed me so gently,

And how sweet and powerful his presence was.

I couldn't help but smile and remember the moments we had.

Desperately, I try to go back to sleep to return to my dream man.

To spend just another moment with him.



Please dear Sandman, let me return to my dream lover

So I can remember how it felt

As we lay...

Ever?

I took my Thursday evening to type up some poems for a brotha-friend. He inspired me with his poems, I offered my typing services. After all, the man had things written on sheets of paper. So, I offered to help him out. After the third poem written about the connection between him and another woman, I started to wonder whether anyone has ever had those feelings towards me. Was anyone ever inspired to write a poem about me? Was anyone moved to think of me as such a literary muse?

I thought a little deeper, wondering whether anyone ever loved me that way. Has anyone ever loved me to that degree? I can't answer with any certainty. I could assume that people loved me simply because we had a relationship. However, this poet loves a woman who is technically not his girlfriend. It's sweet the way he talks about her. How he lights up when he says her name. He showed us pictures of her without any problem. I was surprised when he opened up about her without any motivation or question. I find myself envying her, wondering if anyone ever spoke of me that way.

I know what I am. I am smart and intelligent. I'm that person you have late night conversations with about race and women's rights. I know I'm funny and positive, which is why people enjoy my company. But they suck so much out of me, I have nothing left sometimes. Yet no one is there to refill the cup with love and affection. Has anyone ever wanted to fill my cup?

Honestly, I have had a lot of people rotate in and out of my life. None of them ever stayed. And the times they were in my life, they gave me their minimal effort. I know I deserve more. Too bad I'm not receiving it. Because I'm always giving them so much of me. I'm always writing about them, talking about them, considering them, wanting them. Soon the relationship turns into me giving while they are receiving. Then they still walk away, without any remorse. And I sit back wondering whether it was all worth it. I sit alone and question whether I was ever loved by that person or simply a distraction for the next woman to come along.

Will my day ever come when I'm the girl in the poem? When will the time come when I can have my cup refilled? Will I ever really be loved?