image: by lamincode

“A Summer Love Returns”

I guess I’m waxing nostalgic about the 1980s
When the cat with the biggest boombox pulled the most ladies

Reagan and Gorbachev as cold warriors–score one for the “Gipper”
Rap pioneers like L.L. on my radio, making the Hop mo’ Hipper

Bigger the box, louder the beat, and the girls would multiply
I bought mine small for that special one–You–so damn fly

Mixtapes I made, rented house studio, you were my inspiration
Sold a grip from my trunk, tours with you across the nation

On my mind, in my thoughts, you in the Gloria Vanderbilt jeans
My first pair of Jordans, the Carolina blues, so fresh and so clean

My East Coast waves and braided duck tail, with wave brush in tow
The silky pomade I’d let you apply, girl, you just had to know

I was crushin’ on you, put a little rush on you
but kept your reputation intact,
In my room writin’ lyrics in your honor
Damn right, my mack was exact

Neither Blood nor Crip; I was in my Savior’s gang
I knew criminality equaled death–legality was my thang

Our forebears died so that I wouldn’t be rope-tied and court-tried
“Treat the woman right,” pops said, “and you won’t be denied . . . .”

. . . my rightful place in the universe, my rightful place in your heart
You were mine from the beginning, I was yours from the start

That hot summer from the ’80s, I’d sneak a feel on your booty
Double-scoop cones we would share and banana splits so fruity

Ice cream sandwiches and soft-bun manwiches, laughing all the while
I’d sit you on my lap in the park, endless was your smile

We were poor and unaware in our coming-of-age innocence
But quite possibly the best of times in young love—in a sense?

College bound, books per pound, we gained some consciousness
Let my hair grow unabated, identifying with global unrest

Of the darker face of the earth crying out for humanity
Learned emancipation is expensive, freedom certainly not free

You grew even smarter, climbed the charts of corporate America
But true love never found you and I let go of Erica:

You were always there, that firm hold on my mind
Women have come and gone, but none of your kind

My ’80s summer love, damn, I just can’t shake you
We can’t go back . . . or can we? The mixtape remains true

I’ve pulled it out, dusted it off—you’re still the boom in my box
What gains a man without love? All the gold in Fort Knox

Couldn’t buy what we had those many years ago
My hand is still gentle, my touch nice and slow

Come back home, babygirl, your love lives here still
That summer of yesteryear was no temporary thrill

We’ll recapture the rapture, I’m still the boom in your box
Come play in my ‘fro while I fingerdance in your locks

No ordinary summer, the ’80s, it was no fleeting chance
Forever shall remain our summer’s romance.

__________________________

***

Romance lives. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®