| In the middle of our lives We found one another. You were happy, but not free, while I was free, but not happy. You entreated Me to explore your dark depths, to “make a new woman of you” like the girl in My prose. The whispers of Our shared words of seduction gushed great winds into the sparks, blinding Us with desires both real and imagined, until flesh rushed into a one-time collision We both walked away from, you knowing you were not strong enough for duplicity, and I with the singular honor, even at your age, of being the only man whose seed you have tasted. |
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| Poemission |
| Counting Coup |
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