The women have left chasing the leopard.
And we, diseased with stars, are idle boats
Driven apart by the incalculable madness
Of the moon’s gold lurch, idle knives troubling
Our thighs; blood can drift across boundaries,
And tonight we are blood in each other’s arms
From afar. Who dares to ring a bell
above the sea on a night where palm fronds
nick our knees and remind us that blood, oh
blood, can do nothing but run? Who dares
to take salt from a body without paying
with a bit of his or her own salt? Dear God,
I steady myself on the tooth of your day.
I bear a body for your mouth. Who shall I say
Sent me? Who requires a bit of meat to sleep?