By your side

From different hoods, we bumped, collided,

You brought ribs, I brought plantains—undivided.

He like his grits thick, cornbread tight,

And baby, he works that body all damn night.

We fuss, we moan, then get freaky by noon,

Talk dirty with biscuits—under the moon.

Ricky, mmm, in our kitchen and bed,

You’re layin’ pipe while I butter that bread.

Ain’t no culture clash when the clothes fall low,

Ricky, you got me screamin’ in stereo.

He wake up hard, like his grind on the job,

Then eats my peach like corn on the cob.

Movies, books—we cuddle and giggle,

Then he flips me ‘round just to watch it jiggle.

He fixes leaks, then breaks my headboard,

Calls it “renovation,” baby, I’m floored.

Ricky, mmm, in our kitchen and bed,

You’re layin’ pipe while I butter that bread.

Ain’t no culture clash when the clothes fall low,

Ricky, you got me screamin’ in stereo.

You’re the daddy with the lunch pail grip,

But by night, I ride that soulful ship.

With every grind, we build and rise,

In your sweat and spice, I fantasize.

Ricky, ooh, you work it like a champ,

Makin’ me holler while the greens still damp.

Best friends, lovers, freaks on the go,

Ricky, in your arms, my biscuits glow