there’s nothing sexier than a poet
i’ve already read your diary
you’ve already seen me naked
and for every young woman, with a boyfriend,
who’s told me
they tire of making love
between our lines
was choking and spitting
and caressing, all in the same breath.
you see, our love was simple
it was cigarettes
and pillow talk, long conversations
into the summer nights, by the streethum,
in the city,
and the window,
a waterfall, the watermelon
dripping,
i didn’t care if you knew me like this
and you the same.