When I see tall, thin men, I wonder if they wear underwear

and moreover, what sort?  Boxers, briefs, tightly fitting underwear?

Talk, more than that, whisper close to my hear, share

things that will make me think about what’s under there. 

Depending on the date and the intention I will take care

to choose the laciest, least complicated underwear. 

You and I fumble, undress, clothing flung on chairs,

afterwards, post-cuddle, we search for items—under where?

The secret I keep as you come as close as you dare:

It may be a thong.  It might cup my ass—or I am sans underwear. 

I have a thing for beards and all sorts of facial hair

so if you offer me a mustache ride, I’ll take off my underwear. 

-March 2010, for Doug