The Night of the Chocolate Sun
He was the sweetest thing
she’d ever seen
jet black with pearl white teeth
just barely twenty three
eye lashes like Marabou fans
with braids like silken woven wool
a mole right under his left cheek
the body of a god
His skin glistened from the fusion
of hot water and baby oil
sweet, coy and bashful he was
but as aggressive as a panther in bed
surges of electricity
eluded from his underwear
his lightning bolt raging
to strike in her womb
making her feel
alive
yet more alive
with every passing second
in what seemed like a binary moment
from a broken hourglass
he had delicately commandeered his manhood
inside her sacred temple
and with the oddest bit of curiosity asked,
a question never reserved for a true woman
of hidden candor
he whispered in her ear
while his warm breath
massaged her lobe, taking her mind to a place
far from home
“Ma’am, how old are you?”
So without hesitation, she screamed, “ 46”
And through his thrusts, he replied,
“You are every young
man’s fantasy
and every older man’s
dream.”
It was at that very moment and all of 20
years of thinking she was a true woman, the sun came
and kissed her…just her
beaming through the ceiling above them
warming her deepest and softest vulnerabilities
to confirm that now she was more than
just a woman,
she was alive,
she was treasured
she was desired,
she was beautiful…
still beautiful
with her voice trembling and tears
rolling to the nape of her neck,
she screamed at him to say it once more.
And through his thrusts, he replied,
“You are every young
man’s fantasy
and every older man’s
dream” .
the sun continued to shine
for hours,
well into days
then weeks
and after countless years
of never setting suns
she contends and wears well, but with decent humility
that she is still and will always remain,
every young man’s
fantasy
and every older man’s
dream
