Miles Hodges - From Head To Toe lyrics

Her toes were subtle, separate and royal like the j**eled points in a King's crown that sat on the throne of her heels and what a rough throne it was Battered from long walks in the park at night and callused from trying to dance away 400 years of slavery Jumping the broom in the cotton field, southern girl Double dutch on the front lawn in a world moving just a little bit too fast Gunshot arches in her feet, can you feel me? Her ankles were two moons glowing in the dusk Upon which legs that seemed to go just as far up Rested halfway were knees known to move and to shake once all the lights went away When the music in the basement gets so loud your blood starts to hum Your lower back folds into the wall and it starts yellin at ya "Push back harder, baby" Thighs made of hymns I'll leaver her inner thighs and insides for later in the piece Her hips? Glorified hula hoops Gym cla** rockin, cat walk poppin Rush hour traffic, two red lights stoppin Her stomach was an African plateau Wishing well belly bu*ton by which children from all the surrounding villages walked miles to claim their life from There was life in her chest, every curve a mountainside slope Imagine molding Everest Kilimanjaro in these palms Read them. Now, tell me where my future lies. Are you kissing me in it? Is there a bridge made out of cobblestone? of gold? of kisses? of love? Is there a bridge connecting me from wherever i'm going to be to your neck? Can I Savion over it? Left, right to the rhythm of it calling: "Come hither, make a garden out of me! Daffodils and daisies and glory and all" Upwards more, her chin moved like good s** when she spoke Right under her lips, damn near the safest cavern i've ever known A hollowed out tree trunk at the end of the road She could beat back Boo Radley with the tricks she could do with them things Where I hide all my tongue scratched love notes and her tongue was the Mississippi river Her cheeks? a warm winter cla**room two weeks before Christmas break Teacher with a paperback copy of The Autobiography of Malcolm X in his palms 22 light houses and 3 pa**ions for changing things Upwards more, eyes were two lovers who'd seen some sh** making love under red satin sheets for hours Don't stop, I can't move but don't stop Upwards more, ears of the Oracle. Of the Bible. Of Egypt. And hair that wreaked of Southern trimming of a picket white fence surrounding moat like gra** And a house with a big wraparound front porch Never ending picnics in Northern Virginia Your head was great, baby, but your mind was the night before a revolution You could hear everything You could see the future You smelled like Sunday morning You tasted like Sunday morning Your breath was endless Your touch was that of a deep, maroon, Native American tradition Where the land wraps you in it's arms like bed after a long, long night Downwards more, where the insides of her legs came together Nothing but sweet, raw flesh and nicotine summertime She walked with her legs and her walk was mean Just as a woman's should be But her toes? Her toes could dig into the sand at 5am on the beach Face toward the waves and prepared to watch the sun rise