I feel
              the pulse of my
                                        pulse
 
         hasten
whenever I splay open your poetry
and dare to stroke your ink ~
 
you are delicate
be`neath each line
for each letter formed in words
is a curve; you are
a tri`dimensional silhouette
a deuce of duchess
 
tell me
                 are you enjoying my touches?
   
your bodice
is a bare sonnet … a sunset
that splits with no regrets;
the numeric`s betray the numbers
of your femin`ice parfumes
inhibiting my poetic lair … oftenly
 
I want to kiss your lips
now if that isn`t un`fair?
 
for you are a`far,
  `cross the venus, a
constellation
seperat`ing us … in terrain
 
I don`t know how to love     a woman
much less
                  you?
 
but you make me feel like
 
oh, and like,
I don`t know …
 
but what I do know, I desire
to bask in the afterglows
of lovers un`alike … we are lovette`s, Luv
did you know that?
 
women
loving
women
 
and I have neither the clue
for I am a lover of men …
 
but you     I make the exception
 
just tell me, my precious, where
to lay my poetry
 
because
 
… if I can`t have you in the real
I can at`least have you
in the poetry …
 
 
 
  my virgin tongue grazes your nipple
       I   s h u d d e r