my god Hidden under the pupil of the moon at night, I dance in my room half-naked, my body skin of silk and hips like valleys molded by an unseen god Nobody has called me beautiful but I learn young of body and desire and the boy who wants my tongue but not its punctuation my scarf an orange peel my self-love lingerie One day I’d like to write about beauty One day I want it to be enough Until then we smile my concealed deity and I the boy’s eyes rolling backwards a cloud
and not its hunger that I am soul
and not a platter
at the thought of my scarf slipping like the white of a good dream. Nardine Taleb
