My Kind of Black 10/10

 I used to imagine
my kind of black
was as routine

as morning coffee
and VH1.

I used to pray
my kind of black
opaque and translucent,
 Florida tinted
smoked sand granules
bent between billows
and sun kisses.

My shade of black
is supposed to fit
like my 9th grade ellese's,
almost too clean to wear
and worn in all the right places.

My shade of black
sleeps with me
like the ring I touch
in my sleep.

My kind of black
shifts in sudden sunlight
and glistens like stars,
a scorpion scurrying
between dusk and prey,
almost too bright to see.