Politicians
Can you bite into me like a nectarine
Red and sweet, full of ecstasy, she dares to ask
Which the politics of love forbid–
Previous Castros of her heart
would blink fuzzily at her like that damn drunk russian
but what do you expect from communist love
where all are brothers and sisters
and everyone gets f*cked just the same–
only nobody likes it?
Fusion
Crack! Pow! We’re up like a shot
Neither can believe the passionate night
and the responsible day ahead
(You say you love me in a language so old)
To you, there are only two:
That which one does, and that which one is.
To me, there is only one:
–and it is rhythm–
one drumming, beating madman of a person
(and this is how I describe all lovers)
