Audre Lorde

(18 February 1934 – 17 November 1992 / New York City)

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Love Poem

Speak earth and bless me with what is richest
make sky flow honey out of my hips
rigis mountains
spread over a valley
carved out by the mouth of rain.

And I knew when I entered her I was
high wind in her forests hollow
fingers whispering sound

[Hata Bildir]