Voluptuous under flannel. Daggers,
stones and diesels; filling all that you wear
with joy. On the prowl. On the side. Lovers
of love, this is the truth about that dare:
dick-slap our faces. You, Keiko and Drew
crouched on the floor, upturn grins all aglow.
Vodka, ganja, Truth or Dare left Day Two
of our acey-deucey, bifocal blow
out a blur. Blouses on the bed. Born of?
Born for? None of that matters. The soul gleams
beloved. Kiddywinks and saints of Stonewall
nurture us: love is love is love is love
even when standing above you. With jeans
loose I blushed then let fall for one and all.