Too, too.

I love this man too wildly—

Too monkey, too gorilla, too lion

Too thunder blasting and

Waves whacking water wondrously

Against smoothed rocks.

To be silenced.

I love this man too naturally—

Too yellow and sun dripped and green and leafed up.

Too white moonrise and purple orange autumn

Too fertile and soft soiled and eager budded.

To retreat from him.

I love this man too raw—

Too hip-hop and Cube and Pac and Biggie

Too 808s and beats against my backside

Too head nodding and back bending

And break dancing

To turn it down.

I love this man too black—

Too Coretta, too Angela and Giovanni.

Too sweet honey dipped cornbread

And plaintains and dutty rice

Tooussaint L’Ouverture and too Booker T.

To not fight for him.

I love this man too west side, left side.

Too LA and hazy and sun shiney

Too New York and bright lighted.

Too Cape Town’d and clouds blanketing mountains

Too Jamaica and crystal water and thought clouds

Too universe and super novas and fireflies

To be contained.