On a strawberry red country road…
I drove a mint white Cadillac pass your
“Welcome to Hershey, Pennsylvania” sign
That’s what your skin resembles…chocolate
an Aztec delicacy, stirred in the circle of life’s
nineteenth-century Nigerian ritual bowl
My nose marinades in the sculptress of your sweetness
the craftsmen of your structure, sculpting
candy sculptures from the brown sugar sands
of your skin’s Mediterranean beach

The scent of you is the Valley of the Kings’ royalty,
Cleopatra’s perfume is tucked behind the
elegance of your ears, in victorious waterfalls
down the twin temples of your legs, that resembles
Lake Victoria, in the Kenya of your skin,
the Uganda of your American beauty’s ubiquitousness
the Tanzania of your tantalizing touch

The taste of your aura is rolls of ebonized
Spanish roses, because you roll your “Rs”
on the dunes of the Dominican Republic
the thick Native mountains of Mexico
the outskirt vignettes of Venezuela
on the cruise lines of Columbia
I want to capture the Black Shakira in your soul
with this poetry
Hear the Wyclef Jean in my voice, when I say…Your hips don’t lie
They speak the truth, in every step you take

In every word you say…
I see the teardrops of Maya Angelou in your syllables
the egotistic elegance of Nikki Giovanni in your attitude
the power of Michelle Obama in your speech, when you speak
Now…don’t be offended, when I say I see the
Nicki Minaj in the voluptuousness of your lower body
although unlike Ms. Minaj, your skin…your flesh
was a hundred percent molded by your mother’s womb, Perfectly!


I snap my fingers, because when you walk…
It’s instant masquerades of music
I start hearing a lost New Orleaner playing a saxophone’s blues
on the shores of your body’s southern swamps and bayous
I’ll buy you a tub of ice for you to bathe all natural in…
when your body burns like a bad perm
I love your weave though
I’d love you even if you had pinky fingernail long
dreadlocks…unlocking the inner Lauryn Hill in your spirit
I’d love you even if you had an afro…unlocking the
inner Esther Rolle in your soul
I’d love you even if you were bald…and a homosexual
Your still a homosapien in this hypocritical world

I wrote this poem for every black girl
every African-American woman
who through adversity…keeps their heads up higher
than Egypt’s morning sunrise…
No matter how society badly promotes you, or judges you,
in my eyes…you’re all…beautiful-