When face-to-face we met
in the backyard where mother used to work,
washing your panties,
I placed my left hand on your waist,
the right one on your breast,
felt you fighting not to say from the bottom of your throat
as we kissed, Ek is lief vir jou, kaffir!
The zebra is a fine beast. And this is not for
nor against the moon which is really a stone
of significance to no one. I was talking
about the folly that governs hearts of men.
And this is not about sex. God knows I’ve desired you
for more than tits, more than the way
you just lose it in broad daylight
when I touch them, and you call me names
but still open like a sugar-bush in flames.

Pindrop Press, 2012