Black Girls Are Made Of Gold

I can’t imagine what the texture of your hand feels like, the spaces between each of your fingers
Punished by, all I can look at is pictures, praying that some day on my sheets your natural scent will linger
I want to open you like a book, I want to read your inner core, devouring every page of your existance
Beautiful brown melanin so smooth, a melodic voice..what makes me crave you even more is the distance
I want to be the reason you listen to Jill Scott and Eryka Badu at 4 am, while you parade around in your panties
Hand over the key to your heart and I promise I'll find beauty in even your greatest faults and insecurities