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when we get closer
though i can see marks in the mirror,
i can’t hide my fervor.
but we have nothing to say to one another.

i look inside
to deep, vapid eyes
so muted and so wide
and wonder why then, that it’s no surprise
that when i spin your yarn, i get no reply.
is that because you’re shy?
cause that’s the excuse that chick had used
on that Bret Michaels show with all the boobs
and you can’t tell me you’re shy with that stomach tattoo –
so used to being called beautiful
that good conversation is when the guy ain’t in the mood.

i’m in the mood around you:
i just have nothing to say to you.
but i know exactly what i would do if i had you.
and we wouldn’t have to say a thing,
save your obvious cries of pleasure & moaning
just to keep this patriarchal fantasy from getting boring –
let’s throw in a “Jason, i am ready for a boning!”
just for the Hell of being totally predisposing.

i heard this was our last morning.
too bad we couldn’t see the sunset together
just once
with our hands down our pants just wanking
in the twilight of the sun:
you going on about something i don’t care –
complaining about your hair –
and it wouldn’t matter cause then i’d have seen you
without underwear.

//jf 10.9.2021

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