[1] Among the many ways you torture Me, at night, lying in bed: First that grim sentence of guillotine, Of your eye not meeting my eye, Pretending a wily abstraction of thought, And as I turn around to face the page Of my book, instead of letting an axe Fall on my neck, a single mischievous Droplet of a caress across the nape.

[2] In the morning dark waking Next to you, my first glance Is of you, a Zen cat dressed In a clock of mist, circling your Arms, leveling your long bow, And then that swift swoosh of A green glance torpedoing me To the reef of your body.

[3] As you swamp me with throaty laughter, A rollicking sea crashing over the gunwales, I silt walk my thumb and index finger, A lone desert ship up and down the dunes, Towards your humid belly, that indigo Cave of Swimmers at Gilf Kebir.

[4] Caught in a sudden rainstorm, in the middle Of a run, I huddle under a mimosa, sweat pouring Out my pores, and run the pink flamed brushes Of its fallen flowers across my face, and call your Name to each crash of thunder, a skin bag of water Poured into the coals of this thirst for you.