to hear a queer
brown girl read
to a room full of dykes
she in her red
tank top, brown arms
just muscled enough
I wanted to touch her
skin, slide a finger along
the bones of her face
something I have not wanted
from a girl for quite a while
I have been content
with my boys
watching her sway
on that stage
I wished that you
would walk down that dark street
through that painted door
would bend down
long blonde hair swinging
kiss me like you meant it
with warm and urgent lips
even though
I broke up with you
even though
if I hadn't, you would have
broken up with me
I am convinced again
that breaking up with you
was one of the biggest
mistakes
I've ever made
I close my eyes
wait for your kiss
that will not come
wanting to be kissed
for the dykes in that room
to prove I am still
one of them
and for other reasons
Mm.
I like this for a whole lot of reasons.
Being bi when you’re older and settled, whether you’re poly or not… it’s odd. It just is.
I love it, Mary Anne. I just love it. Those first fifteen words are amazing.
Perhaps poetry is not your forte? I propose you spend more time perfecting the masterpiece that is the Tree of Fire and Rain. Get MOMA on the horn. Youre a real Renaissance Woman! Move over Kiki Smith