I am wishful for more than I do; try
to get the things I want

my open palms are pilgrims
with my
loud silence; saintly
filling out our conversations with you
getting up
and walking away

your mother leaving me in barren waste
as she rolls up her daughter on her tongue, the red carpet
from me

I’m not even allowed to admire
the distance between us

my flaccid manhood
a lonely emotion
preaching with its one eye

I am because we are

I’m left naked; my sensitive skin
tattling its imperfections to the world
the grand canyon
seated in my creases
boy muscles, lamb chop smiles

my fingers crumbling on their axis
without your hands
beneath mine relaxing, perspiring
from long drawn out Exodus

talk to
me

touch me; and not his car

I believe in our touch
a dream, a memory
of giving birth to poetry under your covers

this, is all I ask-
our lifeline spent together growing old
from my diary:

beautiful red letters on your lips
with the myth of mine crossing yours

could you come around the corner
and hit me, full frontal with womanhood
full speed, leading with kisses?