I hear what you’re saying, but look down at my penis. 

You know how well I can wield this penis. 

Our repetitively secret one-night trysts

are like Miracle-Gro to my penis. 

Imagine the muscles, the angles, the places you’ve kissed.

They’re nothing compared to where I’ve stuck my penis. 

We could welcome a third—I have a list—

as long as there are boobies and no penis. 

I’ll go to dinner without hand-holding, if you get the gist. 

Just know I’m open to those hands gripping my penis. 

You’re busy?  But baby, I won’t use my fist

like I did before.  I’ll use my penis. 

You’re trying to make me jealous.  I pretend I haven’t been dissed.

Good luck, I’ve seen him in the bathroom with his baby penis. 

I, the Rejected Fuck Buddy, hate it when I’m not missed. 

I’ll meet your friends, I’ll go on dates!  Come back to my penis.

-April 2010, written as a lark

Celebrating our third anniversary needs

no fuss or comment, because you side-stepped my needs. 

My mother keeps calling.  I keep her at bay, feed

her lines about how you’re attending to these needs. 

Disneyland—sunny, cool, eighty degrees—

is the perfect place to get down on one knee. 

I’m a fan of tax breaks, maybe enough to breed, 

so I encourage you to first get down on one knee. 

I want commitment; I’m not into greed. 

Diamonds, cubic zirconia, WalMart? Just fill my needs. 

When we make looove I mourn the wasted seed.

Oh Patrick, please buy me the ring I need!

-April 2010, for Danielle to her boyfriend

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