politics lays its white gloves on the bedside table,
unbuttons its embroidered uniform
and crawls next to us in our beds,
in all the beds we have ever been,
with its slimy body,
with its cold hands…

with the roles we take,
or we break,
with the spaces that we lay into,
the ones we leave behind in the starless night.

with the color of my skin on yours,
with your gender next to mine,
next to yours,
next to mine….

with my curls on your fair hair,
with your hands wrapped round mine,
with our eyes,
with our whispers…

oh remember the books my love?
our books!
they dragged them out from their shelves…
do you ever wonder why they lit the sky that night?
it was our naked bodies in between those pages…
bright and mad and uncompromising…