Self-Portrait, Age 18


there’s a sun and it’s melting
melting over ponds and leaves
rushes over my breasts like 
rivers and stone
nothing burns but my blood
boiling in history, closed books
softening lips, oil stains on silk
leaves in my mouth, atop treetops
nights taste of hard cider and faraway love
dreams of neruda metaphysics and skin
her smell lingers but
washes away each day with thinner
gooey peanut butter smeared on 
my cheeks, making me tasty,
or at least, i thought so
litanies of disaster
written in brown
negro lips and hips
painted in cocoa butter
clouds floating among skyscrapers in fear
golden body watching over orchids and dandelions
and grass--

there’s a sun and it’s melting
i know it’ll rise again

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