Arabesque
Bush: she had a deep
black birds nest.
Fecund Arabic woman
dark peaches for thin lips.
White faced, I redden in the sun,
a blanched fig, a thirst
for dew drops.
One night is enough, maybe two,
there must be a Spanish guitar
pleading the stars for more tears.
I have a comb
for her oval waves,
she is, for a while,
the mother of the world
the secreting seeds
of a fruiting pomegranate.
I am her despoiler of silk sheets,
she, a font of arousal
baptizing a love-song.
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