But Who Wears Top Hats?

At Saint Ouen
    I bought you a present.
    the rumpled top hat of Jack the Ripper.

But who wears top hats?

    I drew the crescent moon,
    on the worn red box that whispered
    long epic poems
    of you, the hopeless drifter.

But who hears whispers?

    La tour d'Eiffel was never so grand
    as I wished it to be.   

But who dares to wish?

    I take my pulse
    and peel off this land
    I will take the memory of your hand
    and cross the Black Sea.

But who can swim the distance?

    I will take the memory of your quill
    cross the black ink of this 'T',
    then finally this wild raven will be free.

But who can release a tattoo?

    In Cairo, at Khan el-Khalili
    I bought myself a present,
    the golden bangles of Cleopatra.

    Rings slid down sticky arms
    called me to Hamunaptra,
    called me to you.

But who has You?

    I recall braiding your hair
    in the stone walls of Jericho,
    chewing on figs
    lighting up twigs
    and comparing our toes.
   
    Together we were 109 souls.
  
But who has hair so long?
   
    I traced the crescent moon
    on the nape of your neck,
    and the flower bloom
    on the slope of your back.
   
    and whispered, "I love you"

but who hears whispers?