fetish of tresses

For Michelle and Thorfinn

What stirs me is
long flow­ing hair and a tendency
to touch the sky with easy fingertips.
Cas­cad­ing strands of amber, coral,
jet, burnt umber, fall­ing past
smooth throats, slim torsos,
down to jaunty waists and lean hips
Lanky thin limbs swagger
to set the lot swinging.

there is no dual­ity or ambivalence

give me casual Chinese men
straight black locks twink­ling blue
fram­ing fra­gile olive faces
and tear drop eyes;

give me tall Anglo women
wear­ing flames with impunity,
expanses of pale flanks
for my tongue to explore;

give me effort­less Afric­ans, male or female,
stretch­ing rope muscles on nev­erend­ing legs
black eyes set in soft brown skin
and a tumult of plaits caressing
the lower back with a riot of beads.

this is hardly sit­ting on a fence.

I want to dive my hands into
the lus­trous weight of this hair,
kiss it, have it teased over my face
and laugh into its obscurity,
take greedy hand­fuls and pull
bring­ing closer eyes and cheeks
to fall into rich mouths
and be swal­lowed, whole.