From James Baldwin to His Lover
An ode to the midnight skin that pulls me,
to the muscles, taught taut strength.
May my genius not be
masked in a so called
to me, you
holds the greatest ink in the folds of you skin,
the muse I search for.
rough palms, I give you
the chance to sculpt me pretty,
Make me David,
Venus De Milo,
Make me masterpiece,
is there truth in this testosterone?
For I’ve been
tested beat down
built up. I’ve been ,
menace turned ,
minstrel claimed masterpiece again,
all at the hands of men.
All between the collision of skin, and sin,
Sunday and scripture. This dirt we do,
can be sacred if we do it right.