penis has an idea that could be helpful.

you politely ask me
to button my collar
to tighten my belt
if i wore a tie you might
wish it rather more straight.

(i mean, no, that came of badly--
but you would like to sit at a party
to listen while i speak urgently
of the postmodernist bubble
and its imminent burstation)

you rather forcefully suggest
that i reel it in, maybe leave a nice tip
and put it back in my pants;
the verbiosity of my penis does nothing
but extend the rebuttal.

if he may, penis would like to share something?*

you suggest that i force the issue of myself,
that i appeal to my spirit's court
on grounds that verbal contract is not--

penis wants to re-iterate a certain willingness

--aargh

you sink your fingers into me with a great care
not plainly different from that which came before
except your eyes are unlike
they are breathless with understanding
the sheerness of their faith makes my own eyes squint.

then you ask me to walk you to the car
where you kiss me briefly, ask me to be tremendous
and pull away

the ball chills in my court.
the ball casts an eye at my broken shoelace.

you ask me (penis, et. al) to be fabulous




*rebuttal. re-Butt-all. buttal. butt.