Long for the days
when the wind touched my skin
in a way that was suggestive.
When the cigarette hanging from my lips
accompanied me
when no one else would.
It was almost dark.
And jazz played in the background
Long for the days
when the wind touched my skin
in a way that was suggestive.
When the cigarette hanging from my lips
accompanied me
when no one else would.
It was almost dark.
And jazz played in the background
Someday, if you’d like.
I’ll write poems to you
about the deliciousness of your body
and the way your scent makes me
grateful to be alive.