8.3.2010

Cheeks still flushed from this morning's session with
that guy from the bar,

I tag along after you in the early Spring afternoon
and wait in the sun while you select a plum at the market.

You are unaware of my thoughts, I think.
If I'm gonna have sex with anyone, shouldn't it be you?

You are probably thinking about poetry, Frank O'Hara or T.S.,
not knowing that I hear the poetry in your laughter

and see it in your eyes when you tell a story you know is good
(the prose is when we stand with our coffee and chain smoke).

I catch myself blushing again, and not just because I want to do you,
but because I am really enjoying your company.