Josh's Man

Brown eyes and big hands

envelop me.

Incomprehensible grunts as he

wants me

feels me to be his.

Burrish jowls

thick neck

tenderly thrust

back,

behaired back taught

and legs wraught, each taught by seasons of soccer and hockey past

to give, but not give lightly.

A plough of a man

turning the cynic's heart

to sods and clods of love's

own earth,

and fertile ground for my own desire to want to hold and have part.

And manky foetid ranky reeks of cheezy smeggy crud

curdishly,

bold and unashamed,

line the rim

of his airy hanging skin,

of folds something-metres long and bobbing earnestly, energetically

pulsating smooth as silk, oily like olive-paper

weighty as a boulder

pumped and shining as a plum

and sweet as a fart.