Even as he stabs her,
she wants to kiss him,
plant her purple lips on
the slick skin of his crown.
Even as he plunges the serrated
end of the flag pole deeper
into her chest, pins her to the
eastern wall of the first baptist church—
rebuilt in brick to withstand future bombings—
twists it, widens the gap in her heart,
she reaches out for him, carresses his
chiseled chin, his blue eyes cool as steel.
Maybe his fear of miscegenation
will make him angry enough
to put an end to her silent love song.