I Have A Thing

I have a thing,
for the makossa,
for heavy bass chords and throaty lyrics,
for percussions that echo my heartbeat and the whine of my waist and hips.

I have a thing,
for palms that fit a basketball,
for fingers that stroke and slap and riff.
for bass guitar players.

I have a thing,
for girls wearing glasses,
talking tech and sports and physics and life and art and religion,
for girls breaking forth and out,
not acne y’all.

I have a thing,
for poetry and hugs and words,
for boys that understand and execute,
for boys with arms like buttery steel.

I have a thing,
for food.
fried, sauteed, flambéd, boiled, juiced, grilled.
just, whatever,
for people who love food.

I have a thing,
for a million other things,
for art and literature and music and history and language and murder and horror and tears and people and stories and,
it’s a whole list.

I have a thing for things.
Sometimes, I wonder,
“specialisation or generalism?”
and then I shrug it off,
the end of such thought is,
a bloody headache.

Oh, I do not have a thing for blockheads,
not even a mild sort of affection,
for selfish folk,

but, there’s a thing,
for bad boys with sharp knives, great legs and non-stick pans.

The End.

Photo does not belong to me.