Last night, he held me till I fell asleep;
Dreamed he was a god, his body looked so sleek.
Holy in his briefs, smell of coffee on his lips,
Climbing into bed, urging kisses for his hips.

Today I’ll buy him roses, but not the color of his eyes.
We’ll stretch the hours of evening, till moon says its goodbyes.
I’ll soak his calloused fingers in the whitest cream I know;
In the dark I’ll stroke him tenderly until I feel him grow.

Love tastes suspiciously a bit like pickle juice at times.
Sometimes it’s sweet as honey; sometimes more like crime.
But each night I forgive him as we turn out the light,
My leg between his legs, arms holding him real tight.