Plum nectar in a chalice, her fingers dipped in honey-gold paint, wrapped.
Babies in the winter time, cold in the afternoon–
Cherry-picked into affinity, the color purple graces the tops of her toes.
The voice of Anita Baker trembles past her lips,
Thankfully, she left one right-hand in the mix.
In her God body, she switches to the rhythm of the electrified bass–
Places her arms around the world only she can carry,
Lift her up…
Lift her up!
Wings of change spring from her back as her rose tinted, Mahogany skin entices you.
Our hands fall to our sides, the ground catches our knees and graciousness guides us to her
We lift her up and
-It’s about the inside