thin blue cotton cornfield under my restless fingertips I feel
the relentless keyboard insistence
in the back of our eardrums
you don’t complain of your knowledge, you say
smilingly, soft curve of my face
should you really knot yourself to the girl across the pond?
a regular amphibian
should I really confine our everyday to the mundane clutches of the forbidden?
knowing what we do
the erotic kiss of a chaste marital bed
Is it really far too late to change my mind
and follow you to the hems of the earth?