Well, he’s forty now

& says his kid is full grown.

In the joint, he caught me

staring while he flexed

his pecs in the mirror.  Never,

he said, never did I imagine.

That he’d find in me

the elusive tingle he’d been chasing

in a dry lotus.  But I am the new

thing, the something different –

a new hole to dig out, explore & leave

hollow.  Drop something heavy

& hot into me; we could burn

bright like backwoods bonfires & rise

high, smoke on the wings of winter night.

He says he could see us hot

& heavy, my magic tongue like therapy,

before going back to friends,

as if this crisis would become anything more,

could ever lead to anything less.