Underneath it All

Fire eyes: 
I see your burning hatred
but I am no fool—

Given a corner dark enough
and you’d drink me up;
parch your bone dry mouth; 
pour your fingers over 
every inch of my skin; and
carve your initials
into my veins, groping 
for the promise of something exotic 
you haven’t found in
your own bed.

You’d skin me like a cat, wouldn’t you? 
(If you could.)

Clutching hands: 
I see your sinewy, fearful fingers
but I am no fool—

Your purse is off-limits
to the likes of me; 
but your wallet is bottomless;
it knows no depths as it
spends and spends and spends;
as it falls into the cracks of 
tanning beds and spreads over 
sandy beaches doused in 
white hot sunlight;
while you lay there, desperate
for all the melanin 
you cannot make
on your own. 

You’d skin me like a cat, wouldn’t you?
(If you could.)

Sneering smile: 
I see your mind calculating
but I am no fool—

You say there’s no room
at your table; yet 
your feet are so itchy
to walk down the halls 
of my own home; 
you’d happily sit in my kitchen
licking up every plate
I set before you; 
you’d swallow every beat
I sang and tapped out with my feet 
and wear everything I gave you
like a new outfit; 
then show it off to your friends 
like you stitched it together 
all by yourself.

You’d skin me like a cat, wouldn’t you?
(If you could.)