he thinks about it minute by minute
month after month

and how sweetly he craves
ravenous for its wetness and **** taste

and sweat that will pour out of her
he wants that too

and he thinks “I would be gentle, tender, loving”

but he passes her--silently on the bus every morning
contemplating her ivory thighs
and sighs into a tissue when he gets home every night
and wishes for something more than his wife can give him

something new

but God made all vaginas alike