The ocean reclines, ebbing away
Like the kimono of a geisha,
While in the next room, a foreigner
Waits for some pleasure. Entertainment
Turns itself on, in the submissiveness of a knee,
And the warmth of a tea cup.
They lose all their inhibitions, while
The corn flake skin on the stranger’s epidermis
Makes a crispy breaking noise.
Just like light, through a Shoji screen,
Their bodies diffuse out everything
That lay tormented inside. In this godless dominion
You could find the rustle of tatami, compiling a story
Of how there are strangers in this land,
Who loom into interfaces by nighfall,
Folding into their own geometries
To usher in the humility of lovemaking,
When every sweet pea bloom, is a goodbye, a sunset,
That fixes onto time’s embrace,
Like a red-spider-lily,
To be lost forever.