Dare I close my eyes

And look into my mirror?

Dare I risk that which I resist?

Loving what I am;

Hating what I see?

Seeing the kind of man

Women want for a lover

But despise as a friend

For their husbands.

Embracing too many women

Who Took

And enticed me

To be the lover they needed.

And hating myself

Three heartbeats past ejaculation.

What’s the point?

I ask--

Never answering—

Loving what I am

And hating me for it.

7 days,

six nights,

 5 women

Re + guritare adnauseam (sic)

Why should these mundane experiences,

This pre-occupation with

With banal frivolity and

Other men’s wives,

Demand so much of my time

And keep me

looking

For

More of the same?

By BW

Copyright 2002 by
BW & Bendricks International
All Rights Reserved