All guys. Love’s nourishment is tactile. Keeps us together. So that we hold
on to things. With clenched fists, against each other, through
the defenses, intestines, messy, brilliant.
Red, turquoise, before our eyes.
And sitting astride, those pulling apart the ass
Will explain sitting astride.
You feel him between your fingers, your guy. Then you don’t feel
him any longer. Only a thin layer on the surface