Just another love poem.
The Juice
the blacker
the berry
 the sweeter
  the intoxicating rush of appreciation
of his strength
 of his weakness
  of his intelligence
   of his everything
slow dancing in a warm room
 snow dancing in the cold outside
  no words said
   no words needed
she remembers being drawn to Sir Poitier as a young woman
 as she is drawn to this dark and sweet berry
  time and distance no barrier
   to their friendship
    to their love ship
     sailing the deep dark waters
      of life, liberty and the american way
SUPREME on every shirt
  supremacy on every screen
   the crayon box at war with itself
but in the quietly warm room
  the dancers slowly melted together like wax
   aware but blissfully ignorant