via Imani Tolliver
the hardest part about love

the fallen cross beneath my belly
is the most difficult part about love

i use eight fingers
to part the pink and brown
run one thumb across the slit
and begin
it is the opening
that is the hardest part
that is the hardest part about love

it is not fucking
fucking is easy
easy to forget tomorrow
and my last name
when a purple and brown dick
rubbed the in of me
like a wet thumb on a djimbe
cumming and breathing together like that

the hardest part hides behind the space
before cumming and after the stories, the funk, the fat high low style items to wear for the wedding occasion
and those bumps on my inner thigh
it is near that part

it is the part
forgetting my father’s face in my lap
the part that swallowed the promised wedding ring
that let a dreaded preacher in
who licked prayers into me
like he really meant it

it is the part that keeps my hands in back pockets
the day after i touch
cause i don’t want anyone to know

it is the hardest part
the nexus of nightmares
the power place
the daily news
the place where i cry
the place where i sleep
the color of lipstick
the itch on the bus
the squirm at meetings
the cough of a red, red blood
the place where i count lovers
the darkest hair on my body
my most sincere muscle
the sweet nutmeg sister that humps away memory
the brown bottom drawer where i store promises
the dimple at the foot of my bed

my brightest smile
my constellation of tears

it is the hardest part about love
the opening part
the trusting muscle
the metaphor of my story
the pink pocket of dreams