Bring Yo Ass

Standard

I’ll wait and pray…
Jazz careening through the room, the rain pattering against the window… And this nigga ain’t home.
“Work”, he says, but I know he’s running around with his ain’t shit friends and the hoes that want him.
He doesn’t cheat. He doesn’t give away my love & affection. I think. He comes home, smelling like booty music & cognac & he presses himself on me, surrounding me in all the love I missed. He’s late tonight. I hope he ain’t in no shit. His friends always in some shit & he’s always caught in the middle. I’ve had to sign way too many bail slips for him. He lost his last job because of them niggas. He swears it’s different, says he’s grown.
He stumbles in the same, calls me Lova the same, when I’m pissed. I wear that sexy shit on purpose so he can suffer, on purpose. I love to make him beg, even though he doesn’t need to. I spread wide for him, all the time, even when I hate him. Especially when I hate him, I make him moan, hum & sigh to keep him in check. You’re mine, muthafucka.
He’s late though.
I want him, warm, beside me. I want us to intertwine in our sleep, locked in our love until the sun rises, until he goes missing again. I’m tryna smell his scent, that beautiful smell that my nose has grown used to. I lay in our bed, nose to the sheets searching for him.
How many times will my friends tell me to leave, to save myself this heart ache & trouble? Tell me I’m too smart, too beautiful, too worthy, too effervescent for this kind of “love”? How many rumors will they lay at my feet, hoping I stand & trip into some sense. You hoes are single. Y’all don’t understand, the love I have for this man. “damn, is the sex that good?”
Straight to voicemail.
Where is this muthafucka? He really ain’t getting none tonight, I’m leaving my panties on his pillowcase tonight. He’ll have me in the morning though. The sun will rise with him buried between my thighs & tonight will be nothing but a bad dream. The romance will go on & I will cascade around him…
“Wassup, Lova”

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