I Devoured Your Lessons like a Savage

You seduce me with whispers
Of my own mortality, about how life is short
You guarantee in me a Revolution

For which you allow me to play the Hero
I’d suffice in happy endings, or not
Just for a masterpiece moment

With your lure of hospitality
You incite to passion with Headlines
Of how excited you are to know me

To allow me to enter you
Do you have any idea, how many
Emotions you inject into me

How quickly you shyly raise my pulse?
Like a get-well coordinator, you tease me
With an executive tantalizing order

You seduce me with candles and your
Warm brown body melting for my touch
Have you ever noticed how fierce you drive me

Forging a passage and passport to your bed
You close the curtains when I arrive
I’d thrust at any perfect link, of your
Blue butterfly heart, talented and fertile.

In the Earth’s Glory

I’ve bathed in invitations of uncertainty
I’ve wept some lonely history, in my time –
Ached for, my turn to come

For marriage, happiness, friendship
It was very hard to learn
To be patient, to not want too much –

I’m standing here before you
I do not know what I bring
Or if you can hear music

In my secret heart, it comes echoing
There were contagious smiles
Laughter traded between us

You said you liked to see a man
Come undone in bed, face to face

With your ever actively creative libido
I turned with the lips of the biggest happiness
To bathe in your eager-sweet hospitality.

I Smashed your Body – With the Ends of Love

You say you have built walls
Erected to protect yourself from
The world’s doom, maybe my doom

But what if I purified our creation
With a challenge of echoed purity
I gaze towards your eyes with

The logic of affectionate intervention
It’s not that I have gifts, only
The radiant clarity of connection

The little drops of vulnerable intimacy
I have no old-time God hidden in my loins
Only human commentary, spectacular

Sweetness in my charge of your wet places
I will spread my cloak of stars
Over your honeyed entrances

You say you have built walls
I will break down these walls with music
With a miracle of shared orgasm
Obscure your beauty, and anchor our union.

The Language in Which I was Trained

What am I doing here, I mean here
I do not know if it’s true what I’ve become
I do not know if the world has lied
Or have I lied, to myself, on repeated occasions
Until, I became something, someone –

I did not intend to be, I would have hated
Once, to turn out as this
I have conspired into a strange brotherhood
Of anonymity, lost contact
With my true self, felt tortured by life

The life I did choose, so why!
What am I doing here, like this –
I do not know if lies or justice prevail
Under the cold tap of facts, I am what I am
But at this point I have my full share of confessions

To find out my poems and dictions meant nothing
In the grand scheme of my fate
The women I adored the most, meant nothing too
Each decade, it’s as if the world speaks another language
To my heart, that hoped creation had one root.

The Social Welfare of Myth

I am thinking of becoming Bahá’í
Nailing my dreams to the sky
While the summer sun is high!
To blindfold my skin, in community

Lost in the darkness, our bodies would reach
Another gentler humanity
But Krishna was lost somewhere
On the edge of time, like folklore

Like summer yawning with orphans serene
And the miracles we secretly wait for
I’m losing why I must thank you, world
For being alive, I am thinking of converting

To religion, simply for human convenience
Which means I’m still left with pure longing
Secret arrangements of the necessity of God
And the luxury of our opera of history books

Somebody is smiling with independence
Beyond the myths, I’ve been a historian
Watching you sleep, as if all of my life.

Spring Fever

All her flesh is like a mouth
A caress of summer, nude skin
A flash of promise in quick moving bodies

A skirt in the wind, it’s all I can see
All her heart is like a living waist
Hips and buttocks that rock, left to right

Right to left, my life in a nutshell
The hopelessly tangled instincts
All her smiles are the most vibrant joys!

I own nothing in her trembling gaze
I am consumed by private obsession
When the bride of her sweetness is close

All her flesh is like a mouth
With lips that other strangers will travel
With breasts that flower like the buds
Roots of art where my passion will die.

There are No More Lovers

A cloud of grasshoppers climb
From the rose that is my heart
It passed before the sun

Between the Moon and the crickets
Battalions of trials before security
I join the wandering and forget

Holiness, with an ordinary lust
For sensations I cannot find
They would trample the green

But I do not sense the freshness
Perhaps I have had too many lovers
Their nameless histories, inherited

In my corridor of tip-toe guilt
I’ve served the densest gardens
With the highest of intentions

But my lips are bruised on the lips
Of the bruised lips of those I have kissed
My virtues have been undressed by time.

May Dressed in White

Happy birthday May, birth month
I will always bring you poems
You are the stranger in my bed

Of buds, Spring, better days
How I have clamored after you
In sleep-whispering, felt melodies

Drift of faces I can no longer kiss
Happy birthday May, I am getting older
Songs fluttering away, washed in gold-fire

Excluded is my grief, on the thighs
Of women that come and go –
Happy birthday May, I’ve lost dignity

In the mourning-songs of another broken-hearted
Winter, recover me all in white
That I might be again, a Lover of the Beloved

The next woman to love me, will be my Loyalty
I shall name the mountains after her
Peacocks will drown in the melting throne
Of her lap of sensual Queenly thighs.

Your Body is my Museum of Youth

I am dumb beside your body
I could once speak words, so beautifully
But poems, were once beautiful

Now I feel life’s kite moving
Upwards and onwards
You love because it pulls you

To Motherhood, to creation
I am dumb beside the challenge
Of winning your affection

To become only a tool, a means to an end
Until someone finds me, I shall be
The lonely hunter, contracting with solitude

I am dumb beside your instincts
They speak more loudly, than my lyrics
Unworthy and pure, poetry
Is for the flowers I left on the ground
In my meditations of youth.