I wish to lay my head upon your breasts, resting my eyes to the peaceful, rhythmic song 🫀 playing beneath them. Within minutes, I know I’d be sound asleep.
I crave to be fed your love and restorative energy, while I’m deep off into my REM, stimulating the regions of my brain needed for protein development and our cultural advancement.
Come morning or when I decide to awake, I crave being nourished and energized by your love, ready to concur the day; gracefully honoring and thanking you for goddess powers.
Your breasts are the antidepressants to my stress, Motrin to my migraines and Tylenol to my fevers.
You are the medicine to my sickness and pain, the ingredients and nutrients to my existence.
I crave you.
🙌🏾 👸🏾 🙌🏾
In Between These Sheets 📖 Chapter 5 “Afrantic” — page 245
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