It has been some time since
I had been inspired, with dimples
And the juices of hope lit on fire
Like a karosine of kaleidoscopes
Rose petals stuck between my lips
It’s torture to live in the pen
When the heart forgets what it is to live
It has been long, Hae.mi, between sunsets
In the city of so much french-this-and-that
I may not discover love at the city’s limits
For I live a hermit in my own airy castles
I’ve got to write, like an unbearable bribery of hope
Where I am a thief, and you are the woman I most desire
Where foreign loans are paid in poems
Poems to the lost souls and coveted mothers
Hae.mi, it has been quiet a while
Since I was a third thief, by writing and by touch
The slipper dress of a fleeting caress
A see-through moment in shared secrecy
Where passion stalks on the invisible up and up.
Wuji Seshat 