Sunday, 8 January 2012


His voice is higher in pitch than I had hoped.
His forehead is angled at a peculiar slope.

His little tattoo is dangerously feminine.
He speaks of mundane things like Minnesota weather men.

He can't grow hair on his ultra-smooth chest.
Feels like a baby when I lay my head for a rest.

He lied about his height, his age and experience.
He says he's easy going but in fact he's too serious.

He touches like a man but feels like a child.
He keeps himself composed when I wish he'd go wild.

He says that he's Catholic then denies he's devout.
I breathe in his scent then spit it back out.