lament

more cordial than ice water in a southern gazebo on the 18^th of July
i
have approached thousands of
shiny white women in crowded parties ripe with the scent of black friends.
in homes that i mistakenly thought were my own
ever offering them
round brown booty in a take home bag
at half price
i have spent years sitting on the couches of family
remembering white last nights
that expand into sponges of weeks months worth their weight in sugary stupidity
rarely morphing finally into the castrating ecstasy
of exit