- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Strange Fruit
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3.)Strange fruit...
He was the strange and bitter fruit...
like the words from Nina Simone
he rang in my ears
The sour taste of him tingled and lingered on my tongue.
I told my mama what I thought to be true
Sour grapes make a damn fine wine.
I was wound around his finger
like a misshapen ring.
Open wide and
wide open
he was in my head
I could smell him
in my air and I had to inhale
His sickly sweet cloying scent
cheap birthday cologne
he was swimming in woman
and
he couldn't tell that they were ripping off his wings
claming my Gabriel as Lucifer
And still I knelt
to the melt
that we both felt
As smooth as butter
on brand new toast
flesh on flesh
in an age old rhythm
when I knew my drummer
had a different beat.
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