Love Poetry

I feel like writing you love poetry
and I would if you stroked my skin
plied me with alcohol and batted your eyes
I’d be yours if your pupils dilated and you
showed me intimate flesh, your petals
separated and yearning.

I won’t search for you on the internet
unless your fingers are tapping on my spine
an incessant question like riddles from the Sphinx
Don’t make me ask twice.
It’s close as a Google search, the way I bend and vow.

But if I take you now to the bed and have my way
would you say I was selfish or dominant?
The most prominent fact is that of touch
When the language is exhausted and the frailties of theory
trip on their own elegance, I’ll give it all up
and write you love poetry.