I am the He-Goat

I am the He-Goat
Upon licking all the sores
Of the world—the taste,
Recorded in the eternal
Memories of my tongue;
Memories which I chew
As leftovers
Of journeys
Of pleasures
Running into wild imaginations
Of body touching body;
I am the He-Goat
Not so slow in my adventures
As the millipede who’s
Curved ways is etched deep in the path
On which it treads; for the millipede is a sculptor
And I am a chaser of a sort;
Awake on countless nights—the stars
Have descended,
They, my sentinels, keeping away the eyes
Of the world—Dogs and sexy
Male Cats, who are less holy and plain,
Less physical and sexual; I
Recounted many light days
A dog had jumped unto
Another, in the very eyes, eyes
Of Cats and Fowls and even I,
The seductive He-Goat;
And its own thing stretched
At full length like a guava tree,
Its thighs stood as if
In readiness for the rapid
Journey it was about to make,
Its thighs are the size
Of the neem branch—
The stars would tarry
Awhile, like they enjoyed my
Journey
Of a line of She-Goats
Curved at their lower sides
Selected for I, the He-Goat;
On starless nights my mind
Travelled to distant lands;
I hear better She-Goats existed,
With darker smooth skins awaited
My Second-Coming!