See how your hair torments the sky
thick curls that blot out the sun
eclipsing the city into the hue
of your grandfathers
midnight skin.
Your father wanted to name you
after a wet season
he wanted to explain
why the rain falls;
just so that it can taste your skin
dip into your collar bone
drip down your shoulder blades
and on the rare occasions when no one is looking
and your head is tilted back,
rush into your open mouth.
For women like you
death comes in the body of a lustful man,
and the earth can’t wait to bury itself
inside you.
(Source: fishturnpink, via castlekeys-deactivated20130507)