I never wanted a man
but when I did,
his chest had to feel as soft as mine;

our *** was to be the kind
that made buds
blossom and petals fly.

Thought

he loves me
he loves me not
it doesn’t matter, he is still hot.

I could not be reminded
of a gun

when a man wanted to press me up
against a concrete wall,
I wanted
to think of bubblegum or

August rain;
soft, warm, moist things
keep-me-close sort of things.

I never wanted a man
until I met you

who had me the wettest of all things
mimicking hot tea
on the very small of your thigh

dropping leaves for

summer storms to pick up
and love us, love us not, love us.