As Much As You Will Hear

As if in a dream
but not a dream
unless it’s all a dream
he came to me
with the economy

of poetry: muscled,
blue-black: thrifty in his
swift compact
component parts –
in mute determination

to hold up the blessings
of his graceful fifty
(I was guessing)
year old frame.
African – I didn’t ask his name:

soft accent I imagined
might be found in Senegal.
The smooth and tight regalia
of his skin taught me
that if there were a sin

it would reside
in not accepting
what he had to give:
the sort of sweet experience
that makes you recollect

you want to live.
His mouth – his lips –
went south – to kiss –
and that’s as much
as you will hear of this.




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