it was born of lament
held in the imagination
of beats and rhythm
those dreams
that keep you alive
when you’re caged
and all that is yours
is nothing
but a song on the night air
and for a few minutes
your body
to do as it pleases
to press your breast against another
feel their heartbeat
against yours
and press long against their heat
to trust another
to hold them tight
as the musicians play
a battered violin, a handmade drum
shadows flicker
along the streets of the port
