por 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,
When you come to me, unbidden,
To long-ago rooms,
One innocent spring
your voice meant to me
less than tires turning
Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy hands bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
They went home and told their wives,
that never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
You drink a bitter draught.
I sip the tears your eyes fight to hold
A cup of lees, of henbane steeped in chaff.
I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping