Lady, won't you wait
out the hurricane
all night at my place —
we'll take cover like
the lamps & I'll
let you oil
my scalp. Please, I needs
a good woman's hands
caught in my hair, turning
my knots to butter.
All night we'll churn.
Dawn
will lean in too soon —
you'll leave out into
the wet world, winded
& alone, knowing
the me only
midnight sees.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very wonderful drafting shared definitely. Wisely penned poem shared.10