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 ephemeralness 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, in the depths of my emotions
every poem is moistened by at least one drop of eros even when
my brain is fully clothed standing stark still on dry sand
—kalamu ya salaam