My Butch

My butch is budding.
At night my butch crawls out,
& curls up in my bra to suck out the long day’s yellowing sweat.

My butch loves meat
& would nail your body
hot and skinfull to the nearest wall
if you bought her a cheeseburger.

My butch guffaws proudly at farts.

My butch can be both tender and creatively rough.
my butch will ignite the sweat between your breasts
her eyes will dance at the changes in your breath.
My butch has a firm grasp on your shoulder.

She’s not afraid to clutch ankles
or use your hipbones like a turning fork.

My butch always keeps lubricant handy
in case the gears get thirsty.

My butch is budding
beautiful and large and proud down to every follicle

my butch smiles knowingly
when the pedestrians notice
her fuzzy undercarriage.

My butch is irritated by underwear that is anything less than comfortable

My butch tells me that my cock
looks better
with a little bit of belly hanging over.

My butch is all push back & crafty syllogisms
my butch makes love like retaliation.

My butch is still recovering from my father’s displeasure.
My butch tells me not to downshift

that the pain my ass will ache when morning comes
is worth the climb.
And that my legs
deserve to be bigger.

My butch tells me
that being a happy mussel
is more important than suffering pearls.
And then she laughs like emptied abalone clacking.

My butch tells me
that sweat is the evidence of love and dignity.
My butch loves the dirt.
My butch thinks that poppies
about to burst
and look just like nipples,
throbbing fuzzily in the breeze.
My butch is budding.

Spring

This spring I am looking to get a sunburn on my neck, have pollen gather in my mouth; I'm looking to grow a flower in my throat. I want steam to rise when I tear my helemt off. Happily, I am becoming more and more comfortable with the damp residue of hillclimbing. I've been selecting layers for sweating in and having youngish, impratical thoughts about casual sex. the kind you have in 7th grade, the ones that made you giggle with shock & lonely embarassment. This spring I am looking forward to the dull ache of pushing my spokes past too many miles. I am ready to soak in the tub for reasons other than warmth. I am ready for my worries to lift away like fat bumble bees. This spring I am looking forawrd to engaging in pains quite delightful.