Around me, hundreds of prospective lovers

who all know just what they need, a diamond

re-inserted in the darks of the mine, a blessing

well from which to drink, a christening.

they claim tribes in peacetime.

hunger runs rampant, satisfaction scarce.

I say I want to bask in your moonlight

til morning and he replies:



enough years i’ve passed through the fire to feel

red. they want sweet n low, not honey. am I

any more than what I am on my telephone

was I the blood ore that became something

no one needed? do I wear?

the bell tolls and I come

to the counter to deliver

mostly I am still

diamond. I decorate.

there are some times

when I wish to be

not only the stone

but the earth.

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