As the smoke rose through the hut,
out into the sky where God himself dreams of desire,
we lay there, my lover & I.
We watched the smoke spread into the evening light.
Every dusk, a bird sits on the verandah & sings the song of want.
I know this because I have spent my nights
staying up to watch the stars—to remind myself how blessed
I am to be here, amongst God’s artifacts,
to be here close to my lover’s body.
I sing silent—my tongue a trumpet,
inside it a tune fleshed out of thirst.
One morning, I found a wounded bird on my porch
& I whispered into myself the whole day this is not a premonition.
‍Lord, teach me how to see the fragility in tenderness.
Teach me to accept the innocence of wings;
even desire—the flower that sprouts in my ribs
each time my lover says my name.
Teach me to see paradise where the world sees pebbles.
At night, I place my right hand on my heart
just to remind myself to be here, in this temple that’s love, with my lover.
I have been speaking about love—
yet, each word comes out in a language that is not mine.
I have been speaking about désire—
yet, everywhere I turn, the world opens a mirror of riddles.
Lonely, I sometimes sit by a stream. I gift it my solitude.
I listen to the silent ripples of water. I say that too is love,
that too confirms my life—a portrait of the self.
As the smoke rose, the hut was warm,
& my lover’s body against mine was a hymn.
I still hear it now, the hymn, the birds, our cats on the
other end of the hut chasing after butterflies.
I hear it now, my body inside my lover’s —
a prayer and a tongue on which it melts.