i cannot fault baryshnikov

clean, like you left me
on the bed untouched
for the sake of faithfulness–
leaving me without trust,
without blind belief, without
you;

once the sleepy poppin
n’ lockin dark prince of
thick lashes and let-me eyes
in semidarkness,

once the flicker of hazelnut cream-scented
candles turning the cliche of your
chocolate silk skin
into a laughless joke spiced
with the kind of tenderness
i cried to suppress;

once the first magnetized
memory of africa smoldering
heat like black sun underneath my blanket,
large hands, delicate hips,
chiaroscuro and a study in contrasts–
white attitude, black skin, dark attitude,
light outlook:

once a lover,
now a dazed concept already let go
a new low in my climate,
once the sole reason for the clench of my thighs
as my clit stirred painful and voracious
to abuse;

now reduced to rapid blinking,
new loneliness
and– popping my safe-sex cherry
amid blushes beneath brown cheeks
and imagined stares:

a useless box
of thirty-six condoms
in my top drawer.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s