II. Sonnets for Dancer

You look to me: “twice?”

like some sought-for sucrose

on some too-late night.

I think it is only a toss

of the fork, like your salad

ignites, your gentle rocking

euphony, your perfect palate

clasping mine, like talking

with my mouth full. Please,

engorge our thirsts’ storm:

dine welcomely, sleep easy

with all the raucous warmth

which our habitus affords.

We’ll feast and keep lean

like Africa, its fruits adorn

you like eager milk seen

as a just reward, as a kiss covert,

as a perfect fit is only just desserts.