The dusk of your
sandpaper skull
moves me.
We worship this
shapely shape
make our fuzzy offerings
to the deities of the drain.
Small sacrifice
to be mistaken for boys
when we can
look at each other
and see more beauty
than ever before.
Let me just be blessed
with this charming monk
of a girlfriend
who revels in,
as I do, the buzz of the clippers:
the clean comb of metal:
the sweet sweep
of a naked head.
~October 28, 2003
No comments:
Post a Comment