"My momma always told me black people with different colored eyes were crazy as hell."
He has dark brown skin, like clay, "Earth Boy" is what she calls him. And the impurities in his clay skin are those little polka dots of black freckles ranging from his top eyebrow to his full lips, then to his neck, along his collarbone, sparse and spread out like a constellation on his visage.
"Oh Cher," she whispers against his collarbone when they make love and she can't help but remember what she told his mother when they were only eight.
About those crazy black people with different colored eyes.
He's fusing his being with hers and he laughs because he knows exactly what she's thinking and then they are laughing together because damn, kids are ridiculous.
Those full lips are back on hers and his brown skin is against her darker brown skin and he's whispering that he's almost there in her ear and then suddenly she's there and so is he and they are on beat.
Their hearts are attached by a small little root, blossoming seeds that will turn into flowers and she knows that he is hers.
"I love you," tears are pooling in his eyes and he's so happy that he married her; happy that they waited this long for this moment.
He's happy that her wedding gown is displaced, a beautiful materialistic heap of woven lace on the floor and he's glad that when he looks at her he sees passion, like the sun painting the sky just before it sets and he's glad that she screams his name.
He thinks this moment with her cannot possibly end.
But he is wrong.
YOU ARE READING
MAD BLACK WOMAN
Romancein which she must deal with her husband's infidelity and the love she still has left for him. in which he must find the broken pieces of the love that fell apart.
