by Travis Jon Mader

    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,
    damp, soft, loved,
    the only real thing
    in this dream.

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