talk to me, you said
i want to speak with more than words
i really want to nude greet, & (with Black music
as a multifaceted utensil of intelligent expression),
both quietly open & tenderly close
productive days for & with you
i want to scent yr nights w/passion flowers
grown w/out haste in the garden of our communication
i want to speak with my eyes calmly reciting
the poems of my feelings honestly revealed w/out
even a hint of hesitancy nor embarassment
non-stuttering fingertips tracing your cheekline
unbroken body english orated like a coltrane prayer
the patience of blk blues blood beating through my brain
a fly wheel of esctasy turning as i hear yr train
slow chugging with deep whistle blowing down
the lonesome terrain of me
& though no one be around, i lift my sound into the dawn
as i stand on the balcony early in the morn and scat
shout jazz so glad happy in the certainty that whether
you hear this or not, when i call you later today, or pass
& see you, these feelings will still be resonating
in my throat & your lips will receive & reflect
the joy of my song
the telephone is for you
some of the music i play on the radio
the tape in tomorrow's mail
spin the CD of me with the laser look of your eyes
touch me
i am more than talk
i am music
—kalamu ya salaam