Come my Middle East, drink my soul
with your mouth buried deep
in the almond desire of our kisses.
Move your body down the chill
of my skin that yearns and aches
for the touch of the sirocco
that lies in your sure brown hands
. . . that smiles with the wisdom of generations . . .
for the stars light your laughter
when the song moves as a prayer
from the lips that came to you as a crusader
but will leave as the conquered.
Come my Middle East, dance my soul
with your mouth buried deep
in the almond desire of our kisses.
Lay the army of this occupation to waste,
for you are as old as I am young,
for you are as patient as i am impetuous,
and I am unable to withstand
the stone inevitability of your passion
. . . that smiles with the wisdom of generations . . .
for the time will come for us to awaken
from these desert dreams that drive me
to desire the cool night winds of your smile,
to quench my long thirst in the oasis of your eyes
where the ages shred the skin of a serpent
who was sent to guard the Gate of the Gods,
only to become the villain of the Gospels
when he desired the forbidden fruit
. . . that is found only . . .
in the almond desire of your kisses.
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