It is cold.  The white moon
is up among her scattered stars—
like the bare thighs of
the Police Sergeant’s wife—among
her five children . . .
No answer.  Pale shadows lie upon
the frosted grass.  One answer:
It is midnight, it is still
and it is cold . . . !
White thights of the sky! a
new answer out of the depths of
my male belly:  In April . . .
In April I shall see again—In April!
the round and perfects thighs
of the Police Sergeant’s wife
perfect still after many babies.
Oya!

I feel the need
To type hello
To ask if you want company
I feel the need
To keep it short
To slightly tease
To arouse your curiosity
I feel the need
To shave my legs
To cutely dress
To match my bra to my *******
I feel the need
To ready myself
For an answer
I've yet to receive
I feel the need
To hope
That you'll finally
See me
I feel the need
To sleep
Because you never reply
Why can't I be the guy?
Why can't I just ignore...
Not feeling the need
To adore
To miss or to love
Why can't I just feel the need
To give up?
Why can't I give less of me?
Why can't I feel the need for more?
Alas, I'm bound to this heart....
I feel the need
To rip it out of my chest
To allow myself rest
To fall apart......

©MV