What Keeps Me Young

Smoky.
Will-o-the-wisp-
y. I can’t grasp it, though
it’s right there on the tip of my
pecker.

But it’s
OK. I can
be cool. They say one hard
Bible is enough for a home
wrecker.

The salt
cannot lose its
savor—stiff wind blowing,
all perfume-y and musky, from
landward.

How much
does a person

pay for their wardrobe? Light
gray vest and skirt chosen to match
my beard.

Cupid Was Me

To make Cupid a boy
Was the Cupid girl's mocking plan;
For a boy can't interpret the thing
Till he is become a man. Blake

Love still
pursues me like
a memory lost. They
alight here on my left shoulder
and sing.

Love’s song
is sweet, but more,
I’d say, laborious.
They prick me on to battle, but
I can’t.

How do
they have their way?
Three times the mob shouted,
“Caesar, hail!” Number of my sex
organs.
                . . .
Wearing
a tailed white shirt
like a skirt, arms tied at
my side. Taking selfies in the
mirror.

Loving
myself works out.
Never any trouble
finding a cute body to have
sex with.

My eyes
are kind to my
buttocks, belly, my smooth
gams. Beautiful surely only
to me.

My true 
love comes to me
in sleep. They kiss my lips,
crotch, knees. They handle and stroke my
raised feet.