sail into the world of women,
in a magnificent ship that does not interest them.
I imagine this is what loving them is:
adding up the piecework of them,
the pale neck, the sudden crow’s feet,
the explosive lips saying of course of course.
I have learned their language, I can say
what do you think? like a native,
but they detect an accent in spite of me.
Their eyes rest on me over the wine.
Their secrets are palpable as money.
We trade, and I grow rich. I feel free.
We compare songs, the cuts on our wrists.
Sometimes I think I have found my home.
When I hold them, I hear their bones crying.
Their costly hair drifts and shines.
http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poet/item/20523
