I care for lolling
Next to a name
As he saws wood,
To hear
His wary gasp
Twirl to an uninhibited pulse,
Like a rogation,
To sense his upper trunk
Blow out and distend
Like an unspoken troth
Of brio, to snoop
So keenly
To his throb,
Pounding
Like an olden berceuse,
And then leisurely,
To take in your clock
Is pounding too,
Carefully first,
But shortly flouting,
Into an enticing efflux,
Like the quiet dithering
Of a colossal bird’s pinion,
Yet as serene as the aubade.
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