Part 1 (The Return to Sugar)
I came back to her in a dream. I left because I was tired and hungry. Her cakes couldn’t satis-my-fire and thirst for knowledge, but she knew the hold she had on me. I want to be Spike Lee fly – with stupid dope kicks – kicking incredibly dope shit – through Radio Raheem speakers, a funkadelic/ summer time high/ un-tampered with bass/ inhabitable snares that kick – like my kicks.
She would have my swag.
And I will undermine her attention because that’ll drive her wild. I know it gets her mad hyped (I mean hyped mad), because that’s how the old playas do it.
I know it’ll make her wet… her eyes at least.
At least I know she’ll cry for me. At least I know I have enough power to convict and evict an emotion with a flash of my fashion sense. All I had to do was walk by, and her soul would be captured by my superiority. But who knew her dominance was that important to moi? (muah) She graciously stole my imagination and turned it into her playground. As much electricity that surged through my body –(umph) – I’m so impressed by how complex she made it to convey and play with her feelings like that.
…
But I still mind fucked her though.
I came back to her in a dream.
With a bounce and a thrust and a penetration and an inhale and a secretion and pull and a lift and a push and a force and a pen and an inkwell and a well wish and a second round and a third and a quarter of an ounce and a fourth and bars and an introduction and a conclusion and an annotated bibliography and a prolific dissertation explaining my work… and I still wasn’t done.
I came on her in a dream.
She became my muse for anything righteous. I trusted her deception – do you trust me to deceive you? Are you willing to take the fall of your fall? I am not responsible for the outcome of this excursion. The proof is in the sheet – you made skeet/ spill out in front of all of my peeps, and all in your mouth might I add. Texture was creamy. How dreamy.