By Makayla Jennings

in a room with oak floors 
holding an iron clad bed 
that holds our bodies. 
Haloed by the smoke
of a black and mild,
sitting between his lips.
Clouding my thoughts, delicate affliction.

In this room.
Two opposites made whole,
unholy.
White skin against a black lover
euphoric and sinful on a moonless night. 
Love is colored red.
Conversation blue.
Color struck,
blinded by the darkness in this room.

This room in which I gave myself to him. 
Allowed his pale hands to lose itself
in the rapture of my ebony curly hair.

Hungry man, who I wanted to feed. 
Gave all that I could, asked
for you to hold onto me, 
Desperation—starving for tender bites 
before turning murky violent.

Hungry man, you who
took all he could get. Devoured.
Took more than what I could give,
took more than I was willing.
Leaving body empty, breathless, and helpless, wondering: 
Am I satisfied?
         
The silence echoes my answer. 
Your smoke haunts this room, 
reveals the truth—
I’ll never get over your hunger.

He lights his last black and mild
this one, shadows his lingering smile, 
before it too fades away.