You are too young to be dressed as a lover:
To be showered with affection, to be
Laid to rest on a bed of thorns; covered with petals
Of rose buds torn, the colours and the texture
Of your lips. At dawn.
You remember when you asked why the JVP paper
Has fewer pages? No supplements?
In your scrap book you posted a beaming President
And his sons and his Lady on the side of
Slim Shady. To be dressed as lover
And to be turned around, most slow,
In the heat of a sleek of light streaming
Through a crack in the evening night.
My finger on that arm draw a wave-like hair-
You watch me come to you. As I mount the stair.
“Too old to be dressed as lover, tonight” and you
Give me your phone when I ask for it. Black and silver,
I fondle it in my palm. Should I make things simple
And break this charm? Should I live to see the end
Of my life’s convictions? In my arms.