Leaving black behind by Ivy

it’s ballet
flipping lightly backwards
whether or not I’m listening
earnestly showing me endings
in quilts and poetry
it’s almost always in the beginnings
where strings get drawn tightly
while we  pretend at paying attention
slowly shoveling assumptions
while playing accordions behind our backs
be that as it may
it’s only fair
that the moon sheds and grows
depending on my pitted sleep
it’s more of a tale than glory
I’m desperately hungry
no not for food
but for the underground erupting
the gift of the serpent
rearranging my rocks
fending off dust where rituals begin
it starts in swirls
leading to spirals
ending where i play my horn
in a  shining Cuban moon
while birds bring ribbons
that circle him wholly
he clears his throat
as they dodge and flutter
him not brandishing mistakes
a look all dimples
a flip of the hand
a start of scent
no not of herbs
but a deep rich intuitive smell
scattering feathers
starting my groin
raising my arms
bowing before glory
receiving his gift
it’s through a single flower
I remember love
the color of my mother’s skin
blowing kisses through our hearts
serving blue all night long
it’s the contrast of etiquettes
that sets my soul a sail
not the words he recites
it’s the way he stares
he came to me through a song
one that only bees can hum
it’s the flags I put up
to tear down yellow
that wears my skin to bleed
he sits in a tree above my head
turning words into rhymes
taming my curls straight
placing spit where I tickle
carving curves with hot iron
it’s he that soothes the beast
leaving only black behind