He calls me his hepcat
He likes to feel the way my hair curls near my scalp
And gets straighter at the ends.
As he runs his strong fingers down my head,
He massages my thoughts until love fills my brain.

He says I'm a babe
He likes to sneak his hand around my body
and place it on my stomach so he can feel me breath
Up and down
Softer then an angel's touch.

He whispers I love you
He never says it to loud
He says words as meaningful as those should never be said to loud and
abruptly, only to wake the sleeping monsters that rest in his head.

He watches me write
He watches my process
And with his eyes on my soul, I've never written a bad poem.

I can't get enough
Of his muscular arms
His beautiful face
And his pretty song.

I love it when he brings me to his shows
He takes me down to the local dive-bars in his red Chevy Nova
Oh how I love his red Chevy Nova, it makes me feel like the bad girl, that I've always wanted to be.

He was born bad, tough, and strong
With his hair slicked back, and his leather jacket that his father gave him
He looks like something straight out the 50s. and I love it.
But in bed with me, we are one with the galaxies, holding nothing but love
and each other.