Chinatown

You had those fire-cracker
lips, all red and hot.
Sriracha thick on my tongue-

quick crackle of cheap
explosives running
down the slanted rooftops 
and dragons in the streets.

Behind the silk screens
in darkened rooms
like harems were
kimonos to don and 
impress in, 

Your spark
to my bang,
in Geisha-face.
My feet, 
too big for these
cultures.

Melted together
in phony ways,
swirled like all
the hot peppers
in those street vendors
noodles.

I was Japan,
your tongue Thailand 
and our bodies,
China.

The streets screamed Guam,
Malaysia,
layering voices
from the din.
And yes, rickshaws
with the shades
we rode in.

And when we parted,
gunpowder on my teeth,
we bowed to the each other,
and to separate horizons.