“weary of licking my heart”


Audre Lorde

Belligerent and beautiful as a trapped ibis
your lean hands are a sacrifice
spoken three times
before dawn
there is blood in the morning egg
that makes me turn and weep
I see you
weaving pain into garlands
the shape of a noose
while I grow
of licking my heart
for moisture
cactus tongued.

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