all good things come in threes


what is this
guilty pleasure of
watching you
dress yourself again
and again,

undoing the
rush to bare
skin, and why
is it sexier than
any of

the hormone treats
you’ve
fed me: far more
delightful than arching your
back,

far beyond
squeezing my head
between
your thighs?

i find myself
particularly
enthralled
by the
muscular corridors,

sinewy
grooves along your spine
that run
this way and that and
disappear

under your bra
straps and tiny
cotton t-shirts and
(immaculate) thong
underwear.

i AM a manIa
mAma
nia maM AN

who adores
the lilting of your
body;

is lost in
the staggering depth of
your mocha-flecked
eyes;

has nothing
to give
but himself,
in all his
cliched fragility.

what is this
angelic devilishness
that inspires you
to coax me into
being

graciously
enslaved
by
raw
beauty?

i can never have
my fill of you,

as unbearably
as i want to,

and
(don’t remind me that
there’s no other way
to say it;)

i loveY O
Ui LOV Ey
ouI lo veyo u




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