Lately I.
Can't seem to wrap my head around this recurrent plight.

When I was.
Something playing male and heterosexual, my one regret.

Was I met.
Fearfully disgusted partners, with no touch, nor hungry glance.

Now and queer.
Something more akin to a metronome.

All the same.
Years of absent kisses caress new dejection
in their tidy space.

She said, "Grant your soft skin to devour."
Woke in abundant sheets, in the mess that I left them.

She said, "Open wide for my river."
Eyes up, ingest to distention.

She said, "Thank you for getting me done."
On my back so blue that I'm bruised plum.

Forever waiting for mine, wet with a lover's ***.