bon.

There was once a Black Man who knew exactly what to do.
He used his hands and his teeth and his tongue and his feet.
He smiled and he whispered.
He spoke softly and firmly.
He applied enough pressure he moved at the right speed.
He would hold me in place and make me feel how good he was.
Make me tell him how good he was.
He'd watch my chest rise and fall.
Nod in agreement at my response to his goodness.
He tasted good.
He sounded good.
He looked good.
He felt good.
I miss him.
that's all.