“Your Love” by Frankie Knuckles

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Ed Toney is Da Man, my poet-chemist-boo. He be textin like, “I’m parked outside your house,“ and don’t I throw on my fur trimmed coat, don’t I hop in and find a cup of vodka with a splash of juice sitting in the cup holder? Ed know all kinds of house–deep, tribal, acid–better than any realtor, and while I sip, he put Knuckles on blast, crack the windows, and we all the way live from South Jamaica to Brooklyn.

Who said house is disco on speed? I swear Ed done replaced the holiday decorations on Flatbush with strobe lights. “Your Love,” a dyke whose name you forget unbuttoning your top on a dance floor. you sin hard to the bass line, all the moaning in the song made you do it, leaves you light-headed. You break day with her breath on your neck. “I can‘t let go,” hickey dark, sex memory.

Ed Toney is Da Man, puts it on repeat without my having to ask.

-Amber Atiya

amber_atiya-394x263Amber Atiya is the author of the fierce bums of doo-wop (Argos Books, 2014). Her work has appeared in Boston Review, Nepantla: A Journal Dedicated to Queer Poets of Color, the PEN Poetry Series, and elsewhere. She is a member of a women’s writing group that will be celebrating 14 years this spring.

Questions, compliments, (hopefully not) complaints?

Contact Jackie Clark: jackie [at] coldfrontmag [dot] com.

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