You're my tap which has no label.
I have never been a gambling man but I want to wash in your sweet water.
It's often that I become so desperate for your touch that I take the chance.

Sometimes the water is so cold that I feel numb inside.
And other times it is so hot that I can feel my blood boiling.
But sometimes. Just sometimes.
It is the perfect temperature and it sends a fuzzy feeling dancing through my bones.

It's the chance that when I turn to you, you'll give me that feeling again. It keeps me coming back to gamble once more.

           Love                                  is                      
wr­itten                    in                    stone
       which                                slowly
             fades                          to
                   sand                   ..                                          
                    ­     ..                 ..
                             . . . . . . .
                              . . . . . .
                                . . . .
                                  . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

To love yourself is an art.

Nameless men sketch their fantasies along my hips
admiring me as I were their
                                                           masterpiece.

**** in an antique wooden frame
    that hangs by my throat,
                                                            gagging.