Hot sweet baklava afternoons
When your tongue curls curls curls in my ear
Like the designs on your grandmother’s rug,
Your American motorbike exotic and strange
Teaching German to the Turkish boys,
Metaphysics to the women.
Last time I saw you,
Dirty fingernails and grease in your hair,
In the courtyard of our house,
Behind the walls,
With your bike spread apart
The chrome removed,
Stripped down and waiting.