Saturday, April 3, 2010

Crushes Rustling Malika 1/30

Crushes 04.01.10

She’s got a James Dean swagger,
And the bike to match.
Drives a big truck
That she brags is actually used for work,
So no, I may not put spinners on it.
Her grin details what she knows
She can make me do
If she so chooses-
I trust her
Because her hands
Are Steady.
She keeps rope and a toolbox in the pickup
Just In Case,
And her biceps bulge when she lifts
The top of her truck bed-
She is more Boy than any boy
I have ever met,
But she comes in the right package.
She knows what it means to move through the
World in a female body,
What it feels like to have to
Hold your house key between your index and middle fingers
While walking to your car at night
So you can go for the eyes
If you Have To…
She is my Safe Space;
Her torso the wall I rest my cheek against
When the world demands more grown-up of me
Than I have to give.
It’s been over a year
And I still get crushed out on her
Her stone butch wrapping
Rustles like tissue paper
When this happens-
She’s the gift I’m dying to open.
I’m like a child
On Christmas morning-
I want to tear into her,
See what’s underneath,
But she forces me to take my time.
She knows I tend to devour things,
Ingesting what I love in bites too big
To swallow-
She makes me slow down,
Her crooked smile
Quietly requesting the same of me-
I’m learning.
Learning to slide against her
Instead of push-
To shiver beneath her touch,
Feel her exhale against my neck,
Smell the desire that rises off her skin
In vapors-
Hear her sharp intake of breath
When my nails meet her back,
Watch her face change when it feels
Taste the masculinity that drips
From her sweat-
She picks me up when I wrap my legs around her waist,
And cradles me as though I were
There is nothing
In what we do,
No matter how kinky we get.
There is a reverence in her fingertips
When she traces my contours,
Grasps the fleshier parts
And groans,
Reveling in the feel of
Inhales my perfume as though trying to
Keep it inside her for future access-
I have never been adored quite like this.
Just watching her walk
Is an aphrodisiac-
The way she Takes Up Space,
Unapologetic for being here,
She’s somehow managed to shrug off
The social conditioning all little girls go through-
She is a Boy,
Her Gender forcing her Sex
To it’s knees,
She knows who she is,
Defiant in the face of conformity,
She is trans-labels-
She makes me question mine.
My crush rustles like
Tissue paper
In a gift bag
Filled with
“She’s not a girl”-
I’ve never been good at keeping secrets-
My crushes usually know
Who they are
And my adoration of her
Is public knowledge,
A rainbow badge I wear with Pride-
Just being seen with her
Slams open my closet door
And I love her for this.
She’s got a James Dean swagger
And a bike to match.
She keeps rope and a toolbox in the pickup
Just In Case,
And I trust her
Because her hands
Are Steady.

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