-- for Shequita Cyprian
By Rudolph Lewis
Chilling wind at the shutter. A
affair at the Bottom Line. A
to lunch on making things new,
a shrewd lover with the touch, the
of lips, of no in-betweens. Can't
forgiveness. From door to door,
laugh at the sad times.
to begin again, to fear rejection
like a slave
driver's whip, hungry for torment.
to a cottonwood. Care slips away
and tenderness. Foolish things
won't be still.
Can't wait for her to kiss the
to ride me underground, from the
like a woman with her face turned
a mirrored face on well water. I
my strange love, the best kind of
my blue creation—to tip toe on a
a dry rose on the thread of a
guitar-played tales at moonlit
voted most likely to turn dogs into men.