Black

Magnetic eyes flash me,
and I want them,
want you, want all of you.
You are moonlight on my mind,
a force from the earth electromagnetic,
a deep voice that laughs low
and honest from a place I can't.
(This is not a racist poem!)
because I love you, love all of you
with an attraction that can only be racist.

Black as the woman
dancing at a queer bar
who flashes me a tit across the floor,
I take it as a sign and in our drunken dance
time becomes pure motion
and I visit the place
where the laugh starts.

Black as the man
who lets me on the playground
where white boys close ranks.
I flip him the ball high in the key
and soaring he slams it home.
We go to his room and play chess
with wine and cheese and whispers
low and hot.

And my student
whose essays read iambic
but barely literate, whose soft
voice speaks with assurance
and Georgia accent, the bulk
of his shoulders testing his shirts,
he carries the ease of one
secure in his skin.

And the teacher
who appeared when I was ready
to pull me through a dark vault of echos,
converging pinpricks of light,
as I skimmed backward out of life.
She is Lucy, the beginning of time,
the light pressure of her thumb
on the middle of my forehead.

I want you all, want to be you,
You are in line with the earth,
you run with the moonlight
and sex and the beat
of a heart that knows itself,
while I know nothing but bleach,
imitation sunshine,
the flatness of artifice,
and doubt.