I have studied the tight curls on the back of your neck <br />moving away from me <br />beyond anger or failure <br />your face in the evening schools of longing <br />through mornings of wish and ripen <br />we were always saying goodbye <br />in the blood in the bone over coffee <br />before dashing for elevators going <br />in opposite directions <br />without goodbyes. <br /> <br />Do not remember me as a bridge nor a roof <br />as the maker of legends <br />nor as a trap <br />door to that world <br />where black and white clericals <br />hang on the edge of beauty in five oclock elevators <br />twitching their shoulders to avoid other flesh <br />and now <br />there is someone to speak for them <br />moving away from me into tomorrows <br />morning of wish and ripen <br />your goodbye is a promise of lightning <br />in the last angels hand <br />unwelcome and warning <br />the sands have run out against us <br />we were rewarded by journeys <br />away from each other <br />into desire <br />into mornings alone <br />where excuse and endurance mingle <br />conceiving decision. <br />Do not remember me <br />as disaster <br />nor as the keeper of secrets <br />I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars <br />watching <br />you move slowly out of my bed <br />saying we cannot waste time <br />only ourselves.<br /><br />Audre Lorde<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/movement-song/
