I surmise that my thighs have separation anxiety

When I stand they shake hands vigorously

when I walk they rub

with enough electricity to jump start a car battery

The intensity of long distance lovers wrapped in denim

the fabric is in between

so they undo every stitch

every strand is rubbed away clean

until they are reunited

I have gone through more pairs of pants than an NFL team

What should I do

separate them and walk with a gap, no, that would be mean

I’ve got thick milkshake fat bottomed thighs that love to touch

a plight

 that most people don’t hear about much

They’d span oceans, tidal waves

 valleys and caves to be closer

build camp and then start a fire

My curvy hips swish as they share a dry kiss

blissfully

unaware of my agony

I can’t even wear shorts without them embracing each other

slamming like cogs in a wheel made of rubber

My hips are wide enough to birth mountain diamonds and destroy skinny jeans               

but

i would have it no other way

because they bend like cheek skin around smiling dimples  

they spread like mozzarella on warm bread

Tongue twisting finger licking mango dippin lollipop thighs

good enough to eat

Indicative of 522 years of finely crafted frames mixed with thousands of my ancestors

queens, peasants, and Zulu warriors

The inspiration for the original coke bottle shape

back when my grandmother rocked the hip-huggers and a sophisticated gait

This one’s for every girl that’s had to jump up and down just to pull your pants up to the waist

with no room to waste

between those

apple round tire sized make men cry lovable

kissing thighs.