Valentine for an Ottowan

Bathsheba’s breast flat as a pancake
King David’s hand creates the curve

You walked a golden landscape
The sun transformed the world
until even motes of dust
shone like gold in the afternoon light

All around you women like fruit
All around you women like tight-closed buds
All around you women
                like a disease you wanted to catch

Once you told me “I’m dating a Touareg”
and I hated you, cataloger, just for an instant
even as I remembered all the varied shapes and colors
of my lovers, and Han, the sleek curve of his brow
the limits of my own acceptance

You send me unmerited gifts through the aether
and through the postal service:
still lives of women like fruit
bathing naked in Northern waters
bathing naked in the Spanish sun