Sometimes serious

I never pictured me to be a clandestine lover who has to wait until the dark to hold a hand While people around sing love songs of all ages. We still lie there in window strained moonlight shadows of coconut trees rooting Our shadows in this city, where we rode across old men preserving every ounce of culture they could find. Liquid music flowing off our faces - didn't we dance in the corner of the club away from other drunken friends where caucasian prostitutes lurked and found some middle aged men. The city denies desire to us Condemns the want of touch. It fears the dangerous ideas that are born within people who are the Bastard children of society. But we must weave our beauty not in ritualistic silk strands or in the camphor burning out of every sacred doorstep. We must clasp all beauty until the break of the dawn when ladies with their brooms - sweep truths of the night out of their houses to the roads. Some who wants to see us still wil