love comes easy
in a centerfold
spread like bed sheets.
running in a pack of
polyamorous sheep
must leave you dry (weak).
running freight trains
over the backs of bedders
who don't care if you stay,
aren't you tired?
one of those 'money on the dresser'
kind of moments,
don't forget the early morning routine,
washing your balls before work.
nice enough to think
of your coworker
"what was her name?"
you just want to ride her like a bike,
to spread her like an open mic.
you were wearing lovers as a look,
pocketing your little black book,
their names are crossed or starred,
like running backs
wearing Stickum on their hands.
hoping to get stuck again
you thumb your pages
and think, "soon,"
filling your backpack
with balloons.