the legs of my heart

the world around me is dressed up in veils of green.

as is the world around you-

it dances the way love does in your stomach

it iridesces, shocks of red and yellow

ir refracts blue, as does the impossible sky

it reflects brown, as does the submarine earth.

but i, too, am of the world

and yet i could never wear green.

i could never dance the way love does in your stomach.

i catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror or ambered in a photograph and there i see, mawing out from my eyelashes and from the space between my chest and bellybutton and permanently painted on my finger and toenails and

seeping out from between my legs,

i see only black.

blacker than the night, for the night at least adorns itself celestially.

blacker than the void, for the void at least adorns itself with possibility.

blacker than the black behind your eyelids, for that at least adorns itself wth the void.

the black between my legs, and blanketed over my mind, has no shimmer.

it is only a vacuum.

and it is fueled by history,

a terrible power supply, because as you know,

history is infinite.

history is infinite and so the black between my legs is infinite. it hangs low and taunts me,

for it has all control,

i have none.

so i am told.

a bolster for the sins of my kind.

and yet.

if i set out a blanket

and light a candle

and close my eyes

(not so tight

just a gentle touch of lid to lid)

i can find my heart...

and my heart is prepared for gala!

in jeweled necklace

and impassioned ballgown

of Green

and its lashes are long

and there are flowers on its fingers

and my heart thinks not of the space between its legs.

No,

the legs of my heart

are for Dancing,

for Dancing the way Love Dances in your stomach.

if i open my eyes,

will my feet dare to follow?