Black Lie

Climb out of the hole,
deftly dug
by your shovel of a tongue.

Climb your way up the dark-
black of a lover's back.

Straddle, grapple
straddle, grapple

roots with rookie hands.
Stand, imagine his thick lips,
his rigid skin of night, of youth -

slip further, worlds further
from the purest, pearl-
white truth.

K. R. Copeland

If you've any comments on this poem, K. R Copeland would be pleased to hear from you.