Men, Date Palms, and Night-time Fires
My love for you is like a nomad’s tent,
Its ceiling stretched with shared discoveries,
Its folds and walls made heavier with the scent,
The fragrance of our sweat and memories,
And soaked with incense from our lusts and hopes.
This canopy is moveable but not
Impermanent. Devotion’s anchoring ropes
Are pitched within a desert scene, kept taut
With poles of male affection. There the sand
Which threatens our encampment only makes
Us want to shift its place and take our stand
At slight remove, together, with firm stakes.
..We’ll find a small oasis which was meant
To welcome our embroidered, khaki tent.