How many times have we averted around the question
that leaves itself mid-air, almost every time the chance
for it arises, how many have you lifted off your bare chest
like flies, not swatted, not given enough time to rest
empty sheets, tired eyes, ruffled hearts down hearsay
scarves worn out, I know I can only reach for this question
or that like only another man could, the same man
who left his soles in the foreground of the photographs
I have seen on your nightstand, after asking a rebound
question revolving, like any other man could,
swing, dance around lazily
these things I leave and want more, like only a man
like only another man could.
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