My body chooses to misunderstand
the slightest softest touch, quivers to flame.
My prudent mind is reddened by the shame.
Uncalled for lust leaps forward to command.

Reciting Yeats I stare into their eyes
see passion to be taught. I know no lust
is there, and I would not abuse their trust.
And yet when I am taken by surprise

Sweet arse in shorts jumps down into my lap
soft teasing arms are thrown around my neck
my good intentions nearly go to wreck.
Yet never do. It’s shame preserves the gap

between a vague lascivious dream or hope
and sweaty kiss or quite unwelcome grope.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to

  1. hamsterine says:

    I really enjoyed both of these, thank you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s