early monday morning
Mar 1995

You lie awake in my dream tonight
your long hair strewn across the sheets
of my bed
I see your smile
the laughter healing gushes up
inside me
spilling out into my life
my world
and all the scenes
I rehearse with you
so many times
through long dark nights
of space
it takes to piece
together fragments
towards the understanding
of deep water
between us

When I fall into darkness
you are the one I long
to curl my spine against
yours the hidden eyes
I want to swim
inside
and when I wake
sunlight filling each
delicious crack
in my longing
yours are the arms
I run to throw
my self into

Dreaming without you
in the flesh
is like reaching
for fruit that
is not here:
your perfume fills my nights
and your skin is the
only smoothness I yearn for
woman who inhabits my dream
come back to me

Your toes
2 Mar 1995

Tonight I choose to remember
your delicate toes
the touch of skin beneath mine
as I held your feet
gently between these fingers
these thumbs
we laughed about distance
discrete space
and now we:
oceans apart.

Tonight I long
to touch your toes
to feel your wriggling warmth
snuggle up into the palm
of my hands
I should like to wander
above your ankles silk soft
smooth the roundness
of the ball and socket there
then watch my fist uncurl
begin its delicate climb
up beyond your knees
to the warmth of you inside

Tonight these are the thoughts
of fancy embraced:
for the record
diligent scribe
I must declare
that these fingers never yet strayed
beyond the articulate
reaches of your beautiful feet

That is entirely my fault
I confess
but tonight
I wish you were here
beneath my touch
I yearn to leave
my fingerprints
all over your body

Tonight I choose to remember your
delicate toes
and their weight
considered carefully
between these hands.

Woman with long strands
of delicate hair
tonight I cast off all
meaning of your
anatomic grace
I long only
to hold you
softly
to touch your toes
tonight.

Nice Christian Girls (NCGs)
January 1995

On the steps of an almost Italian Bakery
wedged between the cracks
of post-colonial Harare
and shopping mall suburbia
I volunteered the thought
(whilst rummaging for conversation)
that Nice Christian Girls
rather got my goat
or didn't
if you see what I mean.

"What exactly do you mean?"
she asked with a twinkle of dismay
and the tip of her nose wrinkled
in the most delightful way.

Being in the thick of it
attempting to retrace my steps
and keep my head above water
(cappuccino to be precise
this was Italian fare)
I doggy-paddled my way
towards an island of retreat.

Nice Christian Girls are pretty
I've hardly heard one swear
or tell an awful naughty joke
(all quite proper I presume)
but the human heart
the woman's flesh
beneath the doll's wrapping
stays well away
out of sight
out of mind
out of touch
perhaps

I should be scared
to show my human form
to such a mind
afraid she'd shudder
and convulse
hide her heart
behind a prim and proper
picture of some ideal
that's been planted
nurtured carefully
ever since the first dead seed
was sown
in Sunday school
by some lovely lady
well meaning in her holy fiction.

"Ah but," my fellowship
of friends retorted:
"We have another side
we keep it hidden from the public eye
guard it jealously
for the dynamic young man
who alone will steal our hearts
and fall asleep in our arms."

I heaved a sigh of deep relief
to hear a confession of frail humanity.
Yet without the clues
of passion furtively hiding
behind the veils of prudent
purity · I fear I'll never
find such a woman:
one who'll kindle my fire
and teach me how to keep it
glowing
through the nights
that skulk towards us
through the gloom.

Having thrown myself
so recklessly
into this furious debate
I hover on its edges
sipping my coffee
watching these women
throw a fear about their minds
wonder what type of self-adhesive label
I've stuck between their eyes.

I chuckle as I float
above the rim of my cup
laughing cynically at
Bright Young Things
with a spiritual bent
yet longing
(yes I confess it)
for a Nice Christian Girl
who'll simply charm my pants off.
And survive to tell the tale.