men will not
pen bodice rippers,
ripped to nip
it’s more the zipper
— –fly– —
your guy
is still romantic,
just not aboard
a mock Titanic.
His light fantastic
might involve,
the horizontal
–after all
the same intent
as steamy novel,
but not dressed up
in tawdry twaddle.
The bloom he offers
just might be,
a rushing flush
to both your cheeks
as such negating
need for vase
you can’t stuff stems
of bloom on face
so rest assured
though he may not–
write you sonnets
on the spot,
he thinks & feels
the same as you,
all mushy, gushy
—slightly blue.
Comments are closed.