This half eastern tranquil being
Caressing my very soul with dancing-well-felt hands
Is changing entire consciousness
Freeing something restrained,
Almost self aware
Inside my third world rugged spirit
Of hunger strikes and rotten market smells.

I am trying as hard as I can to keep innocent
Succeeding in fragments of moments to imagine
What if I read the signs earlier?
But she, running hands on chest, melting collar bones
With knuckles and me passing fingers thru rich black hair
Imagining red and yellow and scratched blue in cold Japanese
mornings
Like the darned conquering beast that I am.