You weigh
three hundred and twenty-six pounds
two hundred and twenty of them
from the used-up
hot air
of other people’s mouths.

These hands
give voices to the voiceless
the murmurs of old ghosts in
mahogany mansions

These hands
slide up the thighs of olive-skinned women

From their hanging place above your
upturned face
the stars whisper their blessings
into the ebony
velvet night.

Find meaning
bleeding from
your smoker’s cough
ripping through your throat like
honey and citrus
and
my tongue in the winter.