- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Circular
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There is no costume. No surprise. Just sex.
You’re clothed the way God made you, no disguise,
Or maybe one: your eyes. Their green, their flecks
Of stone—how they encourage and deny
My heavy, central feelings, sway and slap
My soft and tentative emotions. Why,
I wonder? Is desire made a trap
In which to catch the consciousness of me,
Make of my mind and blood a treasure map
Where ‘X’ marks you as winner? I can’t see
You’ve either need or reason for such jest.
Take off your pose. Just let me fuck you free.
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