S W I M C O A C H
The first other male-type in my life
I can't picture
your face
or identity. I was three.
Sparks.
Sparks are what I remember.
The first time I felt for a man.
(Take me in your arms)
Not would I know until
Eleven
Years
Later
what that bubbly feeling
inside.
A deep childhood secret
tucked inside.
Locked
(a beast for thee)
(give you muscle, tone and tears)
I can't picture
your face.
But sparks,
remain.
(But I will be a beast for thee, happily. Endlessly.)
I thank thee.
Endlessly.