I met him in  the deep black-coffee  night,
a milk-cream moon  pouring  between us. 
I came to a crossroad    with rum and gun-
powder  (like  all of the  books  say to do)
to seek  a favor,    but all he  wanted  was 
to show  me a    good time.  He said that I 
reminded      him of a  mulatto    queen he
once adored, who  conversed  with albino
boas, and spent    hours on  end sitting  at
a Catholic  altar with hot  peppers nesting
on her tongue. He  spoke  to me in Cajun
-Creole French to try to  impress me, and
even did it while  taking care  of that favor
I  almost forgot  about. It’s      almost like I
had him wrapped    around me  like a spell-
bound snake, but  knowing my  track reco-
rd,  I decided    to keep  it strictly business.