Outside of like Wanda Sykes I’ve never seent black women and white women as lovers….
I know there isn’t a thing
I could say
to make the thoughts in your head
but I hope you know
that above all the things
running through your head
sometimes it’s about
what runs in your heart instead
and if there’s anything I know
about the things inside
it’s that they are beautiful things
and strong things
and things that will always
and if the things in your head
seem a little messy
and the things in your heart
weigh a little heavy
just know that you’ll beat
all of these things
and I’ll always love you
even with all your things
Because hangovers hurt less than heartache.
But love is always new. Regardless of whether we love once, twice, or a dozen times in our life, we always face a brand-new situation. Love can consign us to hell or to paradise, but it always takes us somewhere. We simply have to accept it, because it is what nourishes our existence. If we reject it, we die of hunger, because we lack the courage to stretch out a hand and pluck the fruit from the branches of the tree of life. We have to take love where we find it, even if that means hours, days, weeks of disappointment and sadness.
It has been a month since
I last traced the outline of your
and tasted the factory smoke living
inside of your spine.
You are all pollution,
and still the best thing
I am constantly forgetting to keep.
One day we will learn to get tangled
within each other,
but for now telephone wires
will have to do.
And maybe this conversation
will cut off and leave us both waiting
for words that aren’t coming.
Or maybe we will erase state lines
until they don’t exist
and find each other waiting at the beginning
of a poem we always meant to write.
I will try my best not to turn any of this into a promise.
We are both terribly clumsy,
and always running into things,
it’s not our fault when they break.
I want to know all about the moons tattooed across your bones,
but I keep asking all of the wrong questions.
Are you ever coming back?
Forget it, that’s not important.
If you’re lonely,
tell the wild dandelions about my shaking hands.
Ask them not to fall apart when it
gets too cold.