He would look like a girl, save for that curl
of a beard, that fine, thick hair, those antlers.

He skips girlishly but in ways no girl
ever skips. When he kisses he offers

you all of Arcadia, for his tongue
is far sharper than his pipes. During sex

you catch him maa-ing with pleasure. He’s young,
bound in the response of the moon, reflex

of the stars. Imagine heavy, round limes
lost in the leaves. When you swallow his cum

he melts into you like myth. His singing
is of worlds you will never see. Sometimes

you hear his hooves clicking in the kitchen,
his rude goat cock hanging silent, dreaming.