rush

to speak knowingly of sex feels a trifle like fraud
like pinching a pea from its binding
i connect with it in only incremental ways, in a slow rush
that sends a tremble flowing to the pen
like a wave cresting
crashing and subsiding
to leave this form quaking at the loss
always at a loss

because i cannot separate the love
from the act of making it
not as it pertains to you

i'll have you wrap my wrists in lace and
loop it 'round the bedposts
to create a puzzle of ways and means
you asked once if i liked a challenge, and i do
though not when that challenge is you
because when you clasp your wrists behind my back
to pin my arms
to shush me in our reverie
i trust and i trust and i trust
and it will not leave me though you do

all i crave now is your gentle push
your genial pressure
all i crave now is your truth

his name

The censor telling me that there is no such thing as being "vaguely" apologetic, but I think it's true, I think that exists. Not that I know what to be apologetic about or can recall what the initial thought corresponded to. Just that I reject that, that's what I choose to do. I reject the censor that tells me "that's not worth noting". Suck on this notable thing: I snorted up a wad of snot just as a drunk man leaned over to ask my name, and he wasn't in the least deterred. Good man, or just horny. His name was Jeffrey.