When They First Come
When they first come into your bed,Your fear is suspended,By the way they look at you.Like the flaws you seeAre invisible to them. They want to touch you;Feed off you;Hold you and sway youTo the rhythm of their bodies.You feel seen.You make love. Time changes that âThat look that drifts into routineIs a result of repetition.Here, practice makes boredom;Perfection is boring. So you once againâŚ











