PALMWINE DRINKER
His steps, toddler inclined
Carried his gaitly mass
Towards me
Not with minimal fuss
Like the tall nucifera
Dancing in the windy air.

His mouth, an aroma
of palmtree sap,
The skin-tormenting
evening breeze
It's conveyor,
Wafted persistently,
Even at that python-long distance,
Down my olfactory canal.

His tongue, of ruby
Shivering unconsciously
Slurred a declaration of hope
No! Of hopelessness
Yes, palmwine is never shy.