He tells me in Cairo the air is full of burnt sand
sends me an embossed camel skin rug
with Arabic calligraphy in curlicues
the narrow streets cradling
in the fumes of shisha
starkness of The White Desert
on men’s ragged cheekbones
guides coddle the western women
sneak at their meniscus bodies
given to fits under its heat
the abrupt gusts airbrush
facile lines and histories
motes of afternoon dust appear
in their sleepwalk eyes
the armpits reek perfumed sweat
liquoring nights
in blue body of the Nile—
they say whosoever drinks its water
always comes back
like that desert-driven moon
gazes through the balconies of hotels
girdling negligees see the city
waning into darkness.