Something straight from Song of Songs is what I feel for you.

For me.

Staring at my reflection, bare and soft and brown and fluid from each angle, I begin to understand where God was going when He created me.

Safe inside my mother’s womb – the closes place to divinity, everything about me formed: fearfully and wonderfully.

Hair that curls and grows from replenishment like the Earth’s rain.
Jet black iris’s that speak my soul, pause time and provoke truth.
Full lips and high cheek bones naturally inherited from an ebony king and mocha cream queen who had trouble realizing they were born royalty.
Breasts that fed bronze flesh magnificently manifested from me.
Limbs extended with grace and great strength at the same time.
Silk smooth skin which tints to caramel in the Sun and cools in the wind.

I am.

Every part of me threaded together, piece by piece and so intricately; no other collection of matter or energy can match me identically.

There is not a strand of hair on my head God hasn’t accounted for, perfecting the texture and pattern, marveling at the color and precisely measuring each length.

Carefully placed each freckle upon my face and every beauty mark on my shoulder, hand and hip as if to connect galaxies inside my dermis far greater than the Big Dip.

Filled with a specific flavor that quenches any thirst and erupts from combustion like chemistry.

You should never feel free enough to tell me I ‘do not’ have favor, emit magic nor glow effortlessly; that is borderline blasphemy.

The complexity of this puzzle screams ethereally and although I sin inside and outside of this body – daily and quite unethically, I still strive to be presented without fault, pristine and purely.

I have admonished all of my idols, rejected the worship of anyone or anything the Creator molded as a mortal being but unfortunately, I am hoping it is excusable for me to at least be THIS obsessed with ME.