the knife line

in my black room
on a black table I write with my nails
on a black sheet of marble

the last poem about me

I put on
my father's white shirt

the morning as a white woman
with her white sandals
walk through the world
dressed in white skirt

a dark look in her eyes

I paint a black rose on her heart
perhaps a white
maybe my hands
wich kindle the fire

a tongue of fire begins the dance
rejuvenating the faded air
grew between us

the hot drink cools our soul

we cut lambs
and happy we change our faces
and we drink wine

yes
between angels and demons
a knife line

tell me how
God loves me

I undress myself becoming just me

come
I do not wait tomorrow night