“Maybe you’ll find me sexy,” he said.
And his mouth turned like spare coils.
“After reading my verse and wanting me,
wondering how far I’ve come and how long
it will take you to get where you’re going.”
“Maybe you’ll find me coy,” he said.
“And think of strawberries in December
on a bed of parsley laid out like lovers;
wondering how I put the fire out
when my pen burns words into the page.”
“Maybe you’ll find me alluring,” he said.
“In my black silk boxers writing at my desk.
You want me to write for you.
Your heart answers to poetry.
I see your blush.”