Dear Black Women,
As I watch you emerge from the Nile of folklore and fairytales alike, droplets of your coconut elixir flow down your firm body, glistening in the African sun. Its glow upon your chocolate coating is strikingly blinding, but I find your eyes at last. Gazing into them, they accentuate the brightness in your background with a luminescent radiance of gold.
The pureness of your skin resembles that of rum cream; sweetly intoxicating and desirably smooth. With garments soaked from your mystical river bath, it excites me to see the mango-shaped outline of your dark, supple breasts. Your blackberries harden to a cool morning breeze, arousing my senses as I faint a little more.
Our voodoo romance begins as you jolt your head backwards and make that orgasmic moan. The bongo drums roll and music plays, while your dance becomes a synchronous harmony to the rhythm and beat of the jungle.
Your delectable booty starts to pulsate and quiver. It tugs on my heart strings to see you shaking those delicious muffin cheeks, and I understand why we’re a match made in heaven. While I continue to blame my giant mechanical ass for a reason of loneliness, in your boogie-woogie, I realize you’re the salt fish in my ackee.
It saddens me, when you feel unattractive because of the cruel standards this world may have. I get broken-hearted every time you feel the need to straighten your uniquely beautiful curls. If only you knew how gorgeous your kinky hair is. You don’t even need bling when your exotic nature always shines through.
The soft roundness of your nose makes for the best Eskimo kisses, but I yearn for something more as my eyes fall upon your juicy lips. I long for a taste of your sugarcane kiss, my enchanted Nubian princess. I love the adorable way you suck your pearly white teeth.
And in the gap between them is a window that leads to a perfect blackness of outer space, where every mysterious wonder of the universe remains. The things I know not of are frightening, but in our perpetual stare, it reminds me that romance is a surrender to the unknown and risk. The colour contrast of white satin sheets upon your ebony silk is an angelic masterpiece. Hand-in-hand, I enter your black hole as we make love forevermore…
Dear Black Women, you might think the only reason I want you is because your aging never shows. You might even think it’s your sparkle-glossy fingernails, for every man needs a wife who knows how to give an amazing scratch of back. But no.
I want to axe you to marry me because our booties are meant to be. I want to defy the deceptions of the world and reveal your uncompromised splendour.
Be mine, my darling breadfruit, yo.
Yours,
Grand Master Ricksta
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