Her Lips Are Copper Wire in  General   

whisper of yellow globes
gleaming on lamp-posts that sway
like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog

and let your breath be moist against me
like bright beads on yellow globes

telephone the power-house
that the main wires are insulate

(her words play softly up and down
dewy corridors of billboards)

then with your tongue remove the tape
and press your lips to mine
till they are incandescent

By Jean Toomer

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Other poems by Jean Toomer:

• A Certain Man
• A Portrait in Georgia
• Conversion
• Cotton Song
• Evening Song
• For M.W.
• Georgia Dusk
• Harvest Song
• Her Lips Are Copper Wire
• November Cotton Flower
• People
• Portrait in Georgia
• Reapers
• Song of the Son
• Tell Me
• The Lost Dancer
• Unsuspecting