Feeling the Spirit

moonlight streamed in
past ragged cloud curtains dressing the window
baby roses sighed
on a setting for dinner
                     romance

candles burned low, flickering
with hazy phrases, in smoky silhouettes
they breathed feelings into each other’s hearts
shirt and skirt fell
lost to rose petal words now covering the floor

at each step
boards creaked
slow grinding sound

it was humid prickly, August itching hot
gentle lightning linked their fingertips
                     love
                                                    — a scent of rain

they were a thunderstorm crammed in an attic
             anticipation crackling
             the chemistry of latent flame

she leaned against the bedpost
              beside the window
              wrapped in shadow
              profiled against the moon

her hip glistened
wet chocolate painting her moist from breast to thigh
silver light hugged her curves
bending to break the law
adding to her glow — aura of spiritfire

at each breath
sweaty chest hairs twinkled
a dew-frosted forest on dark mountains

slowly
he dragged his hand across his chest
    touched fingers to his open mouth

a corona shimmered about his shoulders
cloaking his firm form in divine whisper
love was a radiance
            about him, between them
tongues of passions’ flames flaring —
              a consuming tenderness

their auras merged
embracing them as they ascended to the bed
in shadow they weaved
they danced in the light
lip-reading epic kisses
faces melting into one

— the forecast was for rain

with each sway
bedsprings sang slow string serenades
their quick breath airy percussion —
                         a moist sensuous mist, gathering
his clenched back muscles glistened
etched into shoulders of quivering stone
theirs was a spirited romance
of rigid tongues and gritting teeth
   bodies in trembling frenzy

her back arched
she clutched him
mouth moving in passionate mime
her heart searching his face

beyond their eyes
they saw harbors in the night
tasted seas of raw magic —
they were heartships riding their hot breath wind

to his lockjawed scream
she whispered in his ear
“Your fire burns sweet
                       so hot,
                       so strong
you trigger my typhoon…
..my Goddess…I am a storm…”
she gasped, breath rushing through clenched teeth
“I feel your God
and I know He,
I know you love me…”

her head fell back
to the vocal thunder of love’s seizures
and the splash of rain upon their flesh

by

jamal
ali

© 1987

Toe/Foot: toes 2 the feet

i dreamed about your toes last night
                              tootsie roll toes
                              cocoa beans with toenails
                              precursors to African soles
                              presto pedal digitation —
black magic

woman
when you put your foot in it
in N’awlins
they speak of mojo an’ such…

but this ain’t ’bout Jo
or                        his toes

see, this is about a little woman i know —
                       a kola nut candy treat
she has feet like musical instruments —
a subtle brush
or firm caress
kneading arches
rolling the ball of her foot…

..and the sounds i get —
the breathless music —
     sighs and moans
     cries and groans
     a capella artistry the Muses never dreamed
     bipedal ecstacy like you’ve never seen…

to fondle
to taste
to nibble her sweet fudge feet
the savoring of her precious chocolate foot fingers
this is her fervent plea
add honey, champagne, soft sherbet, whipped cream —
any or all would answer the call of her feasting fantasy

…words were the way into her heart
but the route to her libido
runs by way of her toes…..

i knew feet were a form of transportation
but it seems my experience was far too pedestrian
to explain such sensation
              such passion
i suppose
from the talented tender blending of fingers, oil & toes…

her rapture is gospel —
                   head shakin’
                   tambourine quakin’
                   slammin’ her hand on the bed

you’d have thought she was somewhere in church
                                     testifying true,
but she was writhing in the sheets
instead of bouncing on the pew

rubbing her feet,
i know now how Aladdin must have felt
when he first saw his genie appear
from a few casual strokes of his hand

and, my beloved is no less compliant
                         lying limp
sheathed in a fine film of passionate perspiration
&             the sheen of afterglow

any question
every suggestion
is met with swift mumbling consent —

  “..yeah..uh-hunh…mmmm, right…sure…anything…”

lips & cheek in unconscious twitch —
endless echoes in musical body language
like the way the big gong vibrates
long after the sound is gone…

i approached her barely breathing form
her cloth moist and warm in my hand
i chuckled to myself,
as i began my tender task,
at the song starting on the stereo —
Michael Franks’ tune “Popsicle Toes”
which is just what she would have asked…

  “..yeah..uh-hunh…mmmm, right…sure…anything…”

by

jamal
ali

© 19 november 1992

mango calypso serenade

He say dis be de mango mess,

                   signs o’ de mango madness —

                   sublime devourin’ of self an’ fruit

He say surrender chile!

Surrender to de mango!

Surrender to de sweet seduction,

                 de frenzied suction o’ de mango seed,

                 de jealous clutch o’ de mango need

King mango, de tropical treat,

folks justa gobblin’ de mango meat!!

Dis ain’t no fiction

Dis be a ’fliction —

he say it be de mango fevah,

                lustin’ fo’ de mango flesh,

                mango breasts make de vision hazy

                de mad passion make ya mango crazy!!

And it be spreadin’ — 

                                 lips

                                 hips

                                 bellies

&                              smiles,

alla da peoples

           growns

&       chiles

Look! Look!

It be on dey face

it be on dey chest

it be on dey hands

it be on dey feet

da sweet sweet mango mess

folks slurpin’ fingers

                  arms

&               elbows —

mango juice stains in dey eyebrows

— and dey ain’t shamed!

Dey be proud!

Dey no apologize

Look at de crowd!

Dey rhumba,

dey sing,

dey samba,

dey sigh,

an’ no one whisper —

dey all be loud!

Lissen to de slurpers,

dere be no usurpers —

          no encroachin’ on me mango, please!

Lissen to de squealers,

lissen to de chorus —

dey all be hummin’,

smiles on dey faces,

tongues just a-dancin’,

sweet cheeks blessed by de mango’s kiss,

baskin’ in de ecstacy o’ mango bliss

Can you see dem?

See, see?

Wit eyes closed,

an’ belly full,

bodies movin’ calypso sweet,

moanin’ de mango melody

by

jamal

ali

© 13 june 2004

in the kitchen with Dinah

sassafras and cinnamon
freshly grated
she had skin like that
     always smelled like something fresh out the oven
     was biscuits you dip and eat
yet never consume
she never met a hunger she couldn’t lick
and he kept busy coming up with new ones

in the kitchen of her embrace
he was the apple in her dumpling
          the chocolate in her eclair
she was a spice chest of comfortable aromas
her wet kisses tropical fruit teas
companion to her honey wheat pastry flesh
seemingly always on the rise

her whispers were yeast in his ears
savory frenzy of cookie dough fingers
leaving tribal stripes she nibbled neatly away

in naked anticipation,
his hand cupped her cheek
like a sweet corner of fresh cobbler,
gnawed her shoulder with tender teeth
found her breast willing dough
yielding to the juice-producing gentle ferocity of his eager hand

utensils hanging by open porch windows
rang in culinary mobile
stirred by an internal breeze —
something about seeing her on the table
                                flour dusting her face
                        feeling her legs locked behind his butt
sucked the sigh right out of him

treating her belly as plate
he slid a slice of pie over her navel
to catch errant juices
and ate all the way to her chin

in rising kitchen heat
they mixed exquisitely slow
churning butter
from tangible desire
blending raw need
with fresh chocolate blossoms
in romantic recipes of mango pudding passions
&                           sweet sauce confections
laced with brandied carnal syrups
brewed in slack-jawed abandon

resting on edge
they were an intricate goblet
of whipped pearl jam parfait
’til a timer stumbled their slumber
and she shut down the oven
as he carried her from the kitchen
satisfied to let this dessert
cool from the inside

by

jamal
ali

© 9 december 2002

too long…

his itch roared years
one hundred seventy-nine
hours

sun exaggerated desire
like tales you wish you could tell —
sight of her, the perfect scratch

it had been too long
her hunger counted minutes like calories
her sweet ache a cavity
& cravings like this don’t have no number

eyes
lips fingering
      grasping amethyst-ruby chest treasures,
juiced & juicing
eager tenor of grunt-driven desire
her rhumba of renegade need
ignited frenzied amorous capoeira
tumbling linen trampolines

’til
union
the spot
head and eyes roll back
                                 willingly
in bliss of sandbox innocence

lips nibbled
remember involuntary spasms
conjured by tender tantric triggers
slow-dancing restraint to surrender

in summer darkness,
vapors rise
from nightfall flesh
&    mouths working long after words have failed

slumber’s tide melts them like sand dunes
outlined in honeyed moisture
distilled by their delight

by

jamal
ali

© 8 april 2003