maybe it's because you're older,
older men draw me in like some sort of musk
a scent, a magnet that i follow
craving more every step i take closer.
it's your eyes that really tell me
-green and lazy, almost dreamy without the fantasy-
they follow and i watch,
and sometimes i imagine they're directed my way
but it's like trying to make out truck headlights from
miles off
i can't tell if their coming or going.
you have lips that i imagine are soft
gentle enough to balance
a tobacco rollie on their shoulders perfectly
yet strong enough to form around words,
singing into a night already full with
your strums.
i ache to be strings
to have your fingers spread over me,
plucking my edges and
making a lullaby out of my limbs--
you speak foreign things
arabic and soft,
and i want you to explain what you mean
into my mouth with your hands
gentle around my waist.