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Carmine Giordano Poem
Whatever your seed is,
it doesn't want my skin.
You never dream of anything of me:
hands, mouth, arms,
the weight of me on you,
tongue, sweat, old willy boy inside--
nothing of my kind allures.
You would rather some sweet Marie,
her body breasting you with nipple,
her perfume offering you delirious wine--
you want nothing of mine.
But, hey, okay--love me anyway, any way.
Love the life and joy of me, my smile.
Love my unquenchable desire; love that I can see you.
Love that I can have and hold you deep and dearly--
beyond tumble, beyond any touch or tingle.
Copyright © Carmine Giordano | Year Posted 2015
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