That Cocoa Butter Love

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When I close my eyes, I can picture the recording process. India Arie has candles lit all across the recording studio that as legend has it, Tammi Terrell once took a piss in on the way to Berry Gordy’s house. There’s a spread of Palmer’s products near the recording booth. For inspiration. The lights are dimmed and soon India takes a deep breath to reflect on the sweet aroma of strawberry kiwi incense and the cocoa butter cure for stretch marks encompassing the room. With these smells now consuming both her and her spirit, she opens her mouth to sing the lyrics that I’m sure she is convinced presents another beautiful expression of the great emotion we call love.

Meanwhile, I’m laughing at my ass off at the just name of this song alone, “Cocoa Butter,” and the sample lyric I see on my Twitter timeline, “Your love is like cocoa butter on my heart.” Such laughter only intensifies upon actually hearing the track.

Maybe I haven’t frequented enough soul vegan restaurants, but India Arie’s “Cocoa Butter” is one of the corniest things I’ve ever heard. Wait, I’ve had an awesome Frederick Douglass burger before, let me not do my meatless people like that. India Arie probably still eats pork anyway.

In any event, I love cocoa butter as much as every other Negro with visible scars. And while I’ve been told shea butter may be the better move, if you’ve had stretch marks, issues with uneven skin tone along with every other issue I’m currently reading off my own cocoa butter-centered product, you understand cocoa butter’s importance. Still, to use that as a metaphor to signify a relationship gets a “Girl, I guess” from me.

I feel like India Arie has been making the same song over and over again. This is like “Brown Skin” only now she’s revising the song structure to mirror a product for brown skinned people. I should also point out that “Cocoa Butter” is the first single from India Arie’s forthcoming album, Songversation. She needs to rub some cocoa butter lotion on her ideas because they’re sounding ashy as hell.

I’m on to you. I can’t wait for the remixes by way of the Twitter:

“Our love is tight like the condom on my dick.”

“Your love is like DayQuil for my common cold.”

“Your love is good like the Gillette on my pits.”

“Your love sanitizes me like the clear gel on my hands.”

“Your love controls me like the remote for my cable box.”

“Your love checks me like the red line on my Firefox.”

“Your love is tasty like the skin on a chicken.”

“Your love is like¬†Beyonc√© Knowles performing at the Super Bowl.”

“Your love is loosens me up like lubricant on my…” alright now, you get the point.

And no. Just no. Now let me go turn on Next’s “Butta Love” to cleanse.

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