Only the boys for me now, hard
bellied and fucking.
Or fucked.
Call it comfort, or truth, how they look,
not at the camera, as women do,
but at one another.
Or to god.
How they know where their faces go.
They open their mouths. They spread
their cheeks. They come on everything.
On everything.
Each body is a body on display,
and one I am meant to see and desire.
I am learning to love
the look of men. I am learning
what to do with my face,
and I come on anything I like.