there is a smile on my face
because this
morning i made love
to Abbie Hoffman
right before he left for Chicago
and the Democratic Convention of 1968
my fingers tangled
in the knots of his maniac hair.
last Friday
i gave Marilyn the key to my hotel room
and she bit my lips
between giggles and gulps of champagne.
a few days ago
i spent the night at Frida’s
she swung my hair over my shoulder
and painted herself naked
on my bare back
the feeling of wet paint
covering me head to toe in goosebumps.
there is a smile on my face
Saturday night at Pod’s and Jerry’s
low light hovers above dark tables
i’m sitting on Langston’s lap,
candlelight flickers across his hand
which rests easy on my thigh.
Billie’s voice fills the room
like the warm smell of cinnamon.
sometimes there’s sad blues
her voice a smooth hand on the back of my neck
and sometimes there’s happy blues
this one goes out to the two of you
heads turn to our table in the back.
she nods slow and soft
the diamonds at her ears catch the light
Langston nods back
and whispers
i could take the harlem night and wrap it
around you
i press my lips to his temple
and say against his skin
you should write that down |