I’d forgotten that
You could make me a poet:

Muscle and five-o’-clock
Shadow and the smell of shaving
Cream or the
Sound of someone showering in your
Home or the
Rocks and trees through which you bike here every
Sunday just to get to
Me I
Think or the
Wise words with which
You pray
Tell, what did you
Gain from the dryer sheets?

Sensitive skin and
Massages don’t mix
Messages I’m
Sorry if you love the rugs enough that they scratch
You and I think your feet
Are the size of my forearm are you trying to
Outgrow me by degrees?