Chocolate

She walks like time slows down out of respect.
Not for attention,
for presence.

Her hips don’t shout,
they speak fluent truth,
having conversations with my spirit
before my mind even catches up.
Every step says, I’ve been through things,
and still chose grace.

Her skin..
that deep, rich chocolate..
like history kissed by sunlight.
Not loud.
Not begging.
Just glowing with stories
nobody ever taught her how to tell,
but she carries them anyway.

Those almond eyes..
they don’t just look at me,
they see me.
They ask questions my heart’s been waiting on,
answer wounds I never learned to name.
There’s softness in them,
but don’t confuse that for weakness.
That’s wisdom resting comfortably.

Her lips are full of intention.
Not just beauty..
truth.
The kind that says
“I know who I am,
and I’m not shrinking for anyone.”

Her curves aren’t an invitation,
they’re a testimony.
Of resilience.
Of survival.
Of a body that learned how to hold joy
without dropping its past.

She’s culture and confidence intertwined.
Style that feels inherited, not borrowed.
Strength that doesn’t announce itself..
it simply shows up,
every day,
unapologetic.

And when I speak to her soul,
I don’t come with lines.
I come with honesty.
Because a woman like this
doesn’t need to be impressed,
she needs to be felt.

So I love her gently,
like love is supposed to be done.
With patience.
With reverence.
With the understanding that
real love doesn’t try to own..
it chooses, daily, to honor.

If tears come,
let them be the kind that heal.
The kind that say,
“Finally…
this is what love is meant to feel like.”

And if every woman reading this pauses,
even for a second,
imagining a love that sees her this deeply..
then this poem did its job.

Because Chocolate
isn’t just a complexion.
It’s depth.
It’s beauty with backbone.
It’s a soul that deserves
nothing less
than a love
that knows how to stay.