I do not know how old you are, only
that the living bar their doors every night

against you. Once I asked you to show me
where you came from; a home made from starlight’s

fairy tales. You said Orion. Miss Thing.
Lovely, lovely Miss Thing. You’re their evil

that comes begging on two legs. When you sing
birds weep. Your tongue can encircle my whole skull.

When you press your six breasts against my chest
and your cool breath fills my lungs, I don’t care

what you are. Saint or devil, it’s the same.
They called us evil, but to me we’re blessed.

The truth that you taught me in this affair:
never apologize, never feel shame.