Love me, Love my Dirty Mind

In the afternoon, or at sunset,
sometimes in the morning,
when we are suddenly naked,
when we will push up
against anything
to finish the fuck,
There, lover, what we do then,
it’s not love.

The thing that blinks me open,
that purses out my shocked O—
and you, angel, you too—
I’ve seen it in your sneering lips,
in the angry arch of your brow.
Oh, darling, it’s not
now, was never, won’t be.
not what you call it, not love.

It’s a thing more like
the man on the train tracks
his pale cock in his hands,
Like when his eyes and mine meet.
It’s a flash heat, a moistening
and I’ll it conjure back
                                     for days

Lover, what thoughts come to me
with my hands tangle in your curls!
What I can’t help but whisper!
In the dim light of the drawn shades,
darling, how can you love me
when none of it is love?