if you want to get spiritual,
or the erotic sublime—Sebastian
bound and bleeding, blind
for love of God in man—
Or the Catullan-sentimental,
“Admit this sparrow to your nest,”
Otherwise, the pseudo-surrealist
metaphor—an umbrella thrust
through a melon, a tongue
—or else: Sir Daddy, Sir, here I kneel,
(of course) your un-
derserving son….
But where can I find
the words, the way to make you feel
what I feel, how
when you look at me,
A globe of light suffuses my chest,
a sunflower spirals below
my belly, glows, grows golden tentacles,
pulling me toward you with electric force . . .
Do you feel it now?
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