wishing for the melting surface to come

Oh, ye women
take me back to your birthplaces
where there are no sorrows
and open your souls
to where we can talk.

I feel the mellow musk we can touch with.

The circumstances of our fragile
existences matter to me.

When I was young,
I could play in your yards,
and you looked at me with hungry eyes.
Could you know me now,
find me in the distant pyramids
as you dance to the gilded songs of
our gracious grandmothers,
in the murky graveyards?

I have seen the city lights as they
hypnotise us, asking for
sexual favors
in the sway of our hips.

Blue oysters give us fleeting moments of magic
the poverty of our lines end in sage stilletto
Shall we join to gaze at the sight of
a beautiful painting?

There are olives at your ears.
The spices of your laziness quicken
our sleep.
Wildflowers in your hair,
your breath as happy as babies,
the entrances of men gone to pasture,
then will we speak of havens.

The taverns do not need your business
tonight.
You are wanted.
Often are the times I have asked about
you.

Oh, ye women,
let me love your goodness
and give you pennies for your
fortune's wineskins,
you are immaculate to dream over.