Her bronze and dimpled smile
Is not meant to draw your reckless gaze.
Pick up your jaw from the floor,
like a pen that’s knocked off your desk
And keep moving.
She’s not wearing that short skirt with the slit
and the high heels
(that make her calves look like they
should be immortalized in a statue)
to get you hard.
She doesn’t come to work
in that little black dress and the hoop earrings,
smelling like a bottle of shampoo
to incite your leering.
There’s a man she’s counting on seeing
where she goes for coffee, or when she gets to that meeting.
A Tom, Richard, or Harry…
But, never Sally.
Because she likes dick,
She likes pectoral muscles and beards
She wants to be taken and fucked
by something more substantial
than your fumbling hands.
Avert your eyes
Every time she crosses her legs
like entwined licorice you want to peel apart
and put in your mouth.
That candy shop is closed to you
As a country club to vagrants.
Never gonna happen.
She’s heroine in a dirty needle,
and you’re trying to rationalize a relapse
like a plan to succeed at failing.
Go home and touch yourself about it,
but don’t you ever dare, let it get real
She didn’t wear her hair down today
so long and curled, that it touches the bottom of her back;
you’d like to grab her by the waist when she walks by
It’s not for you,
It’s for him to pull and twist between his fingers
after hes lived inside your every fantasy
like food that’s been spit on.
You secretly hope that he’s bad,
that he can’t make her cum like you would.
But, he does.
She likes dick.