Charcoal chipped

Smeared on my spine

Deep like oil slicked from a raven’s belly

​

I smell rage and resilience and beauty in this darkness.

 

Obsidian flowers pressed

dripping midnight across the concrete

Not pooled or clotted - smoothed over her like a quilt.

 

I taste sweetness and iron and blues.

 

I seek shade from the blistering sun

a pause for lightning bugs to buzz

a moment when slate is revered like ivory.