There is a bitterness in me
that I feed with black milk,
ink,
coffee brewed too strong.
This is not the strength
that I want.
Funny that we are turned
inside out of one another;
under my pale skin perhaps
you will glimpse the shifting
darkness,
but out of your warm brown pores
pours a golden light.
Maybe that is why
I have craved you, strong skin
much safer than mine,
not just for the hue
apparent, but the light
of you within.
~February 1, 2010
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