Jardin d’Amour
for Barbara Kanam

i.
it is all subtle with this woman
Barbara I could love, I do love

just met, not yet met, yet how intimate

is she receiving me, feeling me
in her skin, in her country

though we may be continents apart
languages apart

though she might be a millions miles away
or however far, how present she is

like blood running through me
she is coursing through me

want her circling similarly, constantly

I have only her song, her singing

bewitching me with what gestures
with words I am but partially able
to comprehend

it is all about what a woman can do
to a man, do for a man

able to couple and complete
able to direct him to ecstasy
go with him there

how many along with me, around the world
is she bewitching similarly, simultaneously

though here at home, we’re all alone
even if she is unaware

ii.
on the edge of my seat
uncomfortable as hell
and so near ecstasy

this woman and me,
and I’m unwilling to let her go
though I suffer: sore spots to sit on

I click back, how many dozen times
to get the hottest bits, most enjoyable bits

of this woman in song,
swaying to song, swaying while she sings
at times wet, at times dry

I drip, affected by this, by her

only woman in all the world
all the women in the world

and I am enchanted,
unable to pull away or go away
while she performs

she gyrates just for me
evokes memories

once I had a woman
as meaty, as juicy, as fleshy

to make love with, to make love to
to screw to my mattress

she’d screw me too

we would cry out
when we went to heaven
without passing away

iii.
Sunday and intercourse
she causes me to recall

long since I’ve had sex with Sunday dinner

without the sex, without the dinner
bin like this, since just before Carifesta,
last year

went to Guyana itching and concerned

I’ve not had sex since, apart from with myself
and women who are unaware and miles away

this woman with fleshy arms, with large breasts
and I remember when that arrangement was best

was a big bowl of heaven

in love with this woman on my computer screen
image in glass

how starved I am for a woman
fresh as vegetables to wash, to make salad with

fleshy as mango to cut into with sharp knife

iv.
with eyes bathe her
like the water showering her

woman willing to get her dress wet
I could take places, could take me places

woman willing to risk, a daring woman
to embrace, to face the world with

step into it, leave wet foot prints

v.
cabbage-green dress, she wears, she wets

wet as well with song and dance
with singing and dancing

how her wet dress clings to her
water dripping from her
like wet leaves in rain, in her jardin d’amour

where on earth still is such a place

in such a place, could I find her,
join her, enjoy her even more
than YouTube allows

in three dimensions together
like my book, my pen and me in my house

Haitian next door constructs a cesspit for Jef

he digs with grub hoe, he shovels,
he pauses to rest

the water’s off, I’m due more rest
I sneeze, I’m wearing only T-shirt
I’m crazy about Barbara from the Congo

difficult to let her go
since she grabbed hold of me

just want to dance nonstop
without end, with this woman
in her wet, cabbage-green dress


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 10: 44 p.m.,
Wednesday, June 17 and 11:41 a.m.,
Saturday, June 20.06.09