old men dream
at night i pull you through
the waterfall of my desire —
your invisible caress ripples,
cascading touches whetting my skin's imagination
once when i was talking
about learning philosophy
i was actually tasting the browness
of your breast warm in the soft of my mind's mouth
yes, i know what to do with the ephemerality of the erotic
how to turn passion into poems and work—a sub rosa motor
secretly powering metaphorical image boats crisply skimming across
the intimate surface of creativity's lake, or plumbing my emotional depths
every poem is moistened by at least one drop of eros even when
my brain is fully clothed standing starkly still on dry sand
—kalamu ya salaam