In a lavish room, I am the harbor nourishing

what is left of us.

The antique of my mouth wonders

fruit that is more bitter than I’ve known.

I am nostalgic for your cruelty and the obedience of it.

Boy, you turn me inside out—

I am always, errantly loving. 

As ordinary as an apology may be, I marry only 

the forgetting.

How dark should I be for you? 

How barren? 

And round and round—

Sometimes, I lounge under trees growing lead

bananas with leaves of alençon lace.

See how I am as white?

Sometimes, I choose a night that doubts and a rain 

that overcomes.