I BLESSED THE SUN - poetic musings of a black queer

v. ODE

ode

Venus in woman's flesh,
descending where no other has explored,
immersing me
in your unforgiving realms,
watching me tremble,
not by the ministrations of carnal desire,
but by the touch of your words.

I beg for your attention,
for you to reach into my depths,
and use me —
use me to write poems of passion.
Paint across my body like a Pollock canvas,
cigarette hanging from your lips,
gaze watching me fall apart at your finger tips.

You walk circles around my mind
like it's a statement.
A fuck you to the man
who's chains you've freed me from.
And like a flame to flint,
I'll burn in this addictive allure,
and rise once more from those ashes.

Christ knows I may not proclaim
this inclination for sapphic tastes,
when tarred hands reach for my throat,
noose of fear strangling with purpose.
For the church marches on,
stones
ready to throw.

But in these odes I can write of you,
where you may remain,
untouched by the blood of judgement,
transcending,
making home in my words,
Where you may live on,
as my muse.

// R.M