From where I watched, the shiny satellite 
Almost occluded summer Sirius. 
I might have sworn they’d touch and set the night 

Leaves when she wants, sorry bitch, 
Said the white man, presuming to judge. 
His mustache hid flakes of the itch,

Too many domes of colored ass 
Stained the white radiance.

Moving across the light, on agitated hips,
She hurries away breadcrusts and grapestones 
And glances in mid-talk, as if from fear,

How easily we say he’s down 
And out or itinerant, that tramp 
Rummaging the afternoon, 

Oh I have felt these same 
yearnings in myself— 
the tiny dark and yellow 

Take back that look. Close the door 
To that shuttered room. 
The thought of what we left, forget. 

He pushes behind the words 
which, awkward, catch 
and tum Him to a disturbed 

I rubbed my eyes. The lightning 
Caught a curving line 
Of tents and lost them. Under 

whisper it gently when you
want me to wander away
the kiss off will refuse ad–