Thus she had lain sugarcane sweet deserts her hair golden her feet mountains her breasts two Niles her tears. Thus she has lain Black through

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I\'ll rise. Does my

A free bird leaps on the back Of the wind and floats downstream Till the current ends and dips his wing In the orange sun\'s rays And dares to

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I\'m not cute or built to suit a fashion model\'s size But when I start to tell them, They think I\'m

Give me your hand. Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry. Let others have the privacy of touching words and

Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at the slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press above me, glowing,

Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your hands Your laughter brave Irreverent. Those sweet excesses that I do

When I was young, I used to Watch behind the curtains As men walked up and down the street. Young men sharp as mustard. See them. Men are