the look on your face
is almost too much for me,
the way your
eyes hide out in their sockets,
deep green slash hazel
focusing on something
deep inside yourself.
i want to
take your face in my hands
and feel the stubble of your
heavy beard,
which you diligently shave
every morning,
maybe even twice a day.
your slim gilt frame
is carpeted in warm fur
i wish i could burrow
into. on top of me,
i imagine the way
your bones would shift
against mine, how your
soft stomach would grumble,
not having gotten
its fill of me.
in my dream,
our lips are pressed together,
your warm wet face stuck to mine
like love.
even though
i think you?re straight,
i imagine you in these positions;
like a mannequin,
i position your limbs
in calculated expressions
of my unmanageable emotions.
i sleep next to you,
my pillow,
clutched in my arms,
pressed between my knees,
there:
damp, soft, loved,
the only real thing
in this dream.
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