Cloette Jonker Krog Brytenbach
naai ons breine bras
tot ons kots van euforia
vergiftig deur die metaforia
16 Junie 2004
... Sanko Lewis
Craftsmanship
My beloved friend,
I so want to sculpt you a poem,
but the clay slips pass my fingers unimpressed,
the chisel ricochets etchless from the marble's cheek.
I know well how to fold a woman's form—
my artist's eye is well informed with her curved lines,
my writer's tongue knows her dunes and ravines.
But you, my friend, leaves me speechless.
Who will teach me this craftsmanship?
How do I scribe the love of male companionship?