- Erotic Poetry
- Riding the .wav
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I dream of planes and camping trips
poetry read into the night, sipping
scotch by the campfire, and I know
I want him.
No history, no face, no idea! Only words
on my screen, and in my head, finding their way
to my most secret places, and I know
I need him.
I dream of romantics and poets
whose passions were purity of words.
He is my Cyrano and Whitman, and I know
I read him.
No insight, no basis, no reason! Only words
played over and over again, leaning
into his .wav sounds, and I know
I adore him.
I dream of freedom in the here and now
making room for him in my life, this journey
winding to who knows where, and I know
I love him.
