my.left.wrist

I saved room on my left wrist 
Hoping you’d occupy the space before we’d occupy the outskirts of Kenya

In rooms full of voyeurs we’ve made love like the exhibitionists we are
We’ve put on shows and left sweat dripping from microphones and nose tips
Somewhere between the first and fourth jazz selection I decided there was a part of you I no longer wanted to share with the on-lookers

The part of you that laughs at black folks making fools of themselves instead of lifting arms and fingers
The part that sleeps in the front seat during cross-country trips just to see how the sun sets in the west

There’d be no houses to wife
Just journeys through shoulder-high grass on our ancestors marrying place 
Window seats to occupy when the weather needs changing
And waters to flow past our ankles on Sundays as we fish 

I’m giving you the window seat because my head leans left when I sleep
And your right shoulder reminds me of a comfort zone I knew one life ago
The second time we met

The first time we grew old together and my memory was buried with me
But that much I know

I’ll trade in Nina for conversation over a 5am breakfast before our pilgrimage up Kilimanjaro
I’ll toss out Miles and Coltrane for a few seconds consisting of whispers under willows and heavy breathing under stars
To discover you new I will forget all previous words spoken 
So over time the language we create will be all we know

My proposal is a part of the me wanting to be picked apart by the you that accepted 

The room saved on my left wrist 
Will not allow this life to pass until it is occupied