Talk to me, baby. Talk to me.
"We are all the same and
in loving have loved and in dying
have loved and also lived
and in living have died by-"
Turns come and spend and
I am searching the fire escape
for traces of foot prints, but they
are so careful. Detection is
become an art.
Whispering to my ear about
things I cannot remember interrogated
or tested. I dreamed that part
didn't I? The little hands touching
nerves reminding me that I
am not from here. When I can
tune my ear to their wave
it is tragic pathos
that tastes like God awful cotton
candy. Mouth meltingly
gorgeous. If I could see it with my eyes,
instead of my heart,
I could begin,
again, to make a start
out of what has become to be wings
on the shoulders of a thing
already poor
served by years crawling,
talk to me baby. Talk to me
because I have the power
now to give you
whatever your little black heart desires.
I will love you
in every way
no one else has.
