I do not know you,
but you will know my inhibition.
He sags in torn jeans,
grown hair, worn socks,
and smiles solace
when he knows your face.

Do not seek him.
Do not need of his eyes a well-meant wink
nor trade his feet an inch;
they will follow yours on miles
and suffer older shoes than you.

Though would his tongue persuade you,
I implore you hold your hunger
through thinnest words,
then press upon him your leaving
with your truest teeth.

Imply then his smallness
in your throat
and breathe for bolder men
who need only air
and inhale worlds.

11/02/2008

Author's Note: Your name is Ali.

Posted on 11/02/2008
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