The first time I saw two men kissing, I was six, Living in 1970s L.A. My mom took care Of an elderly woman who found herself in a fix And moved into a complex of all men, bare Chested men, with cutoff jeans and tinted glasses. My mother’s friend gave me chocolates that matched Her skin—this must be heaven. These sons’ asses Peeked out beneath their shorts, but watched Over her better than mom. Took donations for heat, A sofa and a new wig—all changed her mood. They even did her laundry. They did sweet Better than honey. Did family better than blood. And between duties, two men always off alone So desire, like the dishes, could also get done.
The Voracious Bibliophile 