There have been many nights and some slipped in afternoons of this, in restaurants rump leaning into the
I know you’ll be laughing telling you about the night I walked half
How strangely wonderful, ironic even, I will be craving a return barely two weeks in Kampala, muddle water gazing into the future, whiskeys whose names I did not know in my system, I’m terrified of a Kampala return for so many reasons, Kampala has become too small, will I ever wander your streets rapt wondering like I used to, Baby you never got that of me. The desperate dust wind swirling lands are not in your streets, they have always been in my soul, Baby I’m a road man, will never cease motion, don’t love me so much. I don’t think you will know me when you see me again. Talking more than I ever talked, less tolerant, more impatient, time’s winged chariot brushes my left ear, and I know my time is running out, and Baby, it’s not that I’m afraid, I want more than I have ever wanted, I don’t know if you have all I want, I want so much more, so much. I do though still know this; I still find the whole world in a kiss from your lips.