I will come bearing mangoes,

 

wearing the war-paint of a whore
and the anklets of a thief,

 

a sunburst, spilling nectar,

 

summer-kissed by the yellow
blossom that fell from a tree
and into my braid.

 

Sharpen your knife
and hold out your tongue,
for life is sweetest in small pieces

 

and I could feed it to you in the
white wicker-plaited shadows
of your sun-flooded veranda

 

while we drink to beauty
and wait for the fire flowers
of the year’s first rain.