From Your Secret Admirer to You

I love the discussions we have

in the wake of having intercourse — obviously it's simply me, making

love to myself, conversing with you,

cherishing you — however I don't actually

know you, so I surmise not cherishing you —

hankering the fantasy about knowing you.

"When can I shout with you?!"

I groan. "I'm shouting, I'm shouting," I groan, very

calm. Subsequently, taking in

the aroma on my fingers, I let you know that

I love the smell with a delicate love, it is so

sweet, so nectar, as I've cherished with areas of strength for a

love the smell of semen, with those

working creatures in it,

those snapping undulating tails! I need

to go with you

some place I have not

been — and simply lie, in a bed

for quite a long time, now and then eat, some of the time

swim, I am so worn out on not checking you out,

I need to look at you with a day-long

look. The obstructions down! The entryways off their

pivots! After endlessly coming,

as though with you, I miss you more.

I need you hour and hour in my line of

sight, I need to sing with you to

hit the dance floor with you and lay down with you in the

still (sho dote'n shoby doe) of the nii-iiight