Member-only story
You Bring it Home My Love
A Poem
How you do it, dear Asha, is unknown.
Do you use a hook to bring me in or simply chase away the dark spells which are cast over my soul?
Your sex makes me overjoyed, so I kneel before you, a devout student ready for your lesson.
I poke and pique your interest, but not like most women; with us I feel a connection, closer than a relative who would question my commitment, tell me how less than sane I am in the way I stare at you.
Let’s give this thing a try, my love, get on an airplane just the two of us and go someplace where we are obedient to the authentic present.
It’s a substantial undertaking, I know, since most of the time I feel useless.
Your picture is in my phone and when I get dry for love I look at it, an idol for an idle brain.
I would pay a mint just to have you one more time, give up basketball and make you my maid (in only sensuous ways).
You spoil me with kisses, even though I’m loutish at times.
How you are so comfortable with your affection is revolutionary — you have an earthy air to you, regardless of what month it is.
You’d never be someone’s secretary, not with that lip!
