if you see me in bed with the Turk,
if he speaks too close to my breasts
and I seem entertained by his words,
if he plays with my curls
and I compliment his moustache,
If our minds seems to merge
and our worlds on request,
Know he is also an insomniac.
In the small dark hours
all we have is our share of loneliness.
(The Turk being Nazim Hikmet, a favorite poet of mine)
(Letters to the man in my future is a series of epistle poems I'm writing to an imaginary man I hope is coming my way from somewhere)
