Consider this
A public service announcement.
I read somewhere
That the way a man touches
A woman’s senses
Is how she knows
who’s hers.
I didn’t believe it at first
Until I met him.
So maybe there’s some truth here worth exploring.
Case in point.
I love
his voice.
It gives me tingles.
Listening to a message
From him
Even when he’s angry
At me
Just His voice in my ear
Does something weird for me.
Like jump through the phone
To ravage him weird.
Most women take for granted
That “something”.
That
Whatever it is
That whatever kinda mess he says
Is cool
So long as he’s speaking it.
Now let a brotha
She don’t like
Say that same mess
And a cuss
Is sure
To come next.
Cause
A man speaking
Is just like being touched by him
There’s just something about
The inflections
And his tones…
It’s different for every girl
Who listens to any guy.
It wraps around her
I don’t know why.
If a guys voice is too high
Or too low
It’s just too much.
A deep seated turn off.
I’m thinking now
When a man speaks
A women hears
with more than just her
Ears.
Her soul wants to know.
And if his voice ain’t swaying it.
Forget about it.
And there’s more.
It’s his breath too.
Some men can eat a thousand mints
And it don’t help him
From being anything at all
but musty.
But he
can eat a hot dog
Garlic,
Onions
not brush his teeth for a week
And his breath still smells sweet to me.
It just
Never stinks.
I can’t call it.
Let another brotha
Do that same shit
And I’m looking for
The nearest toilet.
Holding tissue to my nose
Gag reflex
Wanting to
Throw up
And for what?
Because he didn’t brush his teeth
Seconds before speaking to me?
Yes, it sounds petty…
And there’s more.
Even his sweat don’t smell.
Well.
Fresh off the court
No shower
The sport stick long since wore off
And he still smells good
To me.
It’s the essence of his salt
Or something
Weeks can go by
Wake up in the middle of the night
He could smell like stank to some
But to me
I smell pure
Clean
September
Sun.
There has to be something to this.
Granted
I read somewhere
That the way a man touches
A woman’s senses
Is how she knows
who’s hers.
Well if this is true
I’m telling you
This brotha
Really is
The personification
Of that truth.
Cause I can walk through any club
Or venue
And smell
Every stank
Under
Any variety of smell goods
Natural oil
Dolce
Deisel
Kenzo
Sex on a Beach
Viktor & Rolf’s
Antidote
Can’t even cover
What truly lies underneath.
We can chat.
But we ain’t going nowhere
After.
It’s instinctive
I’m thinking
That our senses are what produce
Real chemistry.
More than looks
And a bangin body
Way more than what he says
Or how he commands the party.
It’s more than how sweet he is
Or how much he does
What kinda car he drives
Or who he says he wish he was.
It’s the most subtle things.
The tone of his voice
The scent of his breath
The underlying smell of his body.
It’s stuff he can’t really control
And it’s different for
Everybody.
And to think.
Men go through so much
Senseless bullshit
To show and prove
All the things they can do.
When in the end
It can’t be faked.
When our senses
Tell the truth.
-e-