Except for breasts,
(Pillows for the avid climber,
steep and softly warm, eager
to my hungry chest)
Except for eyes
(low-banked embers down in deep)
Soft hips, too wide for her own taste,
not too wide for mine (Have I felt her hips?)
I have felt her lips, foretastes of honey;
I have felt her cinnamon mouth cooly burn away
my frontal lobes -
and her arms about me,
not hungry arms, but cruelly loose,
uncaring in charity, in uninterested caring.
Except for these and -
dresses, bell-like voice and
tresses,
corn silken western clouds of hair
in blinding singing light -
Except for these -
I don't really know she's not a boy.
And I want, I want, I want
to make her wet and hot, and hot
and prove she's not a boy,
oh not!
Not!
Not!