“0220 (Angles and Angel Numbers, and The Cheapest Direct Flights Available)”

She was Darling Nikki — well, on the days that our schedules didn’t keep us locked into texting back and forth in different languages — she was simply a muse. Amused by how high she’d always feel with a nightcap joint, and one of my stories.

Darling Nikki would bachata in lingerie — maybe soca and steel pan – and was it her hips, or the outline of a slightly deeper brown peeking just outside of teasing confinement, that would send my eyes to fixate on hers? Or, perhaps, painted lips that spoke love languages in perfectly conjugated, foreign feelings felt tones…

Darling Nikki, in ‘Thick Thighs Save Lives,’ auto-fix lighting, nothing more. As every digit tap-danced down from her hair, to her neck, to her breasts —

Her loc’d hair, dressed, forbidden oil for free spirited and intellectual being, as I take note of conversations we speak, noticing I’d previously dreamed them.

Darling Nikki, not shy — except when her hue brightens red and she smiles — I ask her why, and everything stays the same. To flatter a muse…

And as Coltrane ‘58 plays, I make believe kissing both bare shoulders, as she takes her bosom into her grasp, offering fruit — which produces nectar best savored underneath stars, for five-hundred tropical summers, where waves roar, just to bow down to…