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I
Am Cupid’s daughter.
Mistake and design begot me.
Under the silver sun,
I brush away my identity.
A few blots here, a few strokes there,
And all the men gather round me.
The people above,
Impeached,
Glare down at me,
Yet, still I dance
And cherish this ineffable circumstance.
I spend the nights
Swinging between restless arms,
Swathed in sordid kisses
And garnished with love bites.
Beyond this place
Of discord and hate,
I move my hips
And feel the night
Gently stroke my face
With the long, dark blades of its fingers.
I go home,
Smelling like a thousand men.
My flamboyance
Lures natural nonconformists
Out of their comfort.
I shake their grounds
With every coaxing sway,
Until I mitigate their pangs
Of unjustified guilt.
Passersby under the sun
Think I’m a harlequin.
But all I am
Is a goddess,
Devoid of coarse remorse.
My very being is nothing
But benign poison.
When the harrowing hour of the dawn strikes,
Ghost-quiet as every truth awakes,
Then,
And only then,
Does my freedom disintegrate
Back into the infinite sunset.
Only then,
Do I see
What they see
Only then,
Just then,
Do I remember,
I am somebody’s son.