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p.25, Love in a Handful of Dust by Kirk Ramdath
– Poem, "night moves"
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we move in the night
escaping the ghosts that haunt our boots
our heads shorn like penitent monks
to distract the heavy gaze
of the face inside the mirror
love is a game of roulette
we are dizzy from the spin
of thinking love is a game
to lose or win
clad in second-hand finery,
we both play the bullfighter
one hand dances the red cloth
the other is poised to strike
not with a sword, but an embrace
the moment pretence falls away
the vulnerable pulse is revealed
the nakedness of thirst
i hold you like you are going away
but i am the one evaporating
becoming a whisper
until the silence of the space between us
becomes a secluded stage
until the sound of two drums
plays a secret rhythm
syncretizing into the first movement
of symphonic sensuality
you let me drink from your well
till i weep, and lift my voice to you
you stop me, saying you prefer
my kisses to my song
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