Without the black silk thickness that makes you male ---
with its rock-knobbed head raised for my tongue
like a red fist proud and free,
knocking out the back of my begging throat,
busting swollen lips against gagging teeth ---
Would I light up the corners, bright as a
fireplace roaring with lighterd?
Without the black thickness that swings like a proud song ---
that splits my wishbone-smallness with its meaty weight,
beats my pale cunt sore as a stone bruise,
wags me from side to side like a feist in heat
juice-gentled and impaled on a massive spit ---
Would I dance in your dreams naked and
dripping with your come?
My legs tremble before you and you
open me like a book and enter your name. Long, long ago,
before the waters eddied in colorless swirls
around the wild gods' favorite mountains green,
you crushed me like a juicy grape
against the roof of your mouth and spit
the seed singing as I smiled at your feet.
We are cut from the same sweet cloth, you and I ---
a crazy-quilt valentine of ebony satin and potato sacks,
of Delta silt and chocolate chiffon, of midnight velvet
and crossties, of two people fighting back to back,
of poetry and power and politics.