Our hips
        like oak wedges

        barely holding the bed
        steady-she drifts

        off so easily. I'm thinking
        about whatever lowers

        the level of lipids
        in the blood

        in the evening
        must increase the level

        of pain in the morning
        and I'm not talking about head

        pain alone
        but the kind that collects

        in the vital organs
        while sleeping

        and changes
        the shape of your face

        by morning
        when there's an odor

        from underneath
        so dreadful it cannot be

        yours. Young man sweetness,
        with its forgivable sweat, is

        now the I'm sorry stuff,
        the distracted leaning on

        the dresser drawer.
        I want her to

        taste that quivering boy
        so I can taste him

        again, not the tentative,
        over-thinking cheapskate.

        I want the blond boy,
        penniless, muscles

        peach and cut tight
        like spools of Guernsey yarn.

        I want the body
        that stopped women

        from shopping, at least
        momentarily. That young man

        with chest-power nearing
        the J.C. Penney's

        cosmetic's counter knowing
        that just walking by

        he could turn the mirror.

Copyright © Kevin Dobbs, 2001.  All Rights Reserved.