by Maya Angelou
Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a
Welcoming Bluebeards to our darkening closets,
Stranglers to our outstretched necks,
The eye follows, the land
Slips upward, creases down, forms
The gentle buttocks of a young
One innocent spring
your voice meant to me
less than tires turning
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy hands bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
You drink a bitter draught.
I sip the tears your eyes fight to hold
A cup of lees, of henbane steeped in chaff.
They went home and told their wives,
that never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...