in debt & on deck,
these fingers can’t stop.
she gives out hip checks:
her knuckles crack & pop
like my left ankle in the morning
when I stretch & bend.
she kisses without warning.
I can’t wait for us to begin.
I kiss slowly; she flinches;
we’re so lowly; we press those inches.
we lie, we writhe, we tithe
the hell out of each other,
we can’t help but stay undercover.
obviously I miss her as a lover.
it’s hard being something more like a brother.
these post-her years have never been rougher.