Clandestine

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 will
rub ash on our heads
But we will live still - a legal secret
right here - where we were
meant to develop denial.
The garbage heaps and cats don't care.

Water clogged from rains last night
needs somewhere to drain into -
but the sea is surging so high -
there is nowhere to go.