he doesn’t criticize me, —
he improves the moment by kissing my dreams
he doesn’t try to change me, —
he hums amused the music dialect of my soul
he doesn’t interrogate me, —
he knows to take the answers out of my poetries
he appreciates me as i am, —
a ray of the sun kissing his cheeks
he’s happy murmuring my name, —
letting himself hypnotized by my stars’ net to hug him
he loves getting wrapped by my words’ attire…
he’s Steve [Dowson Steve] thru my realm wandering
Siren of the internet, she stretches on a WordPress rock
that’s themed in Baskerville, the background black as night,
the fonts in sans and ornate serif, and all in white.
Revealed in quantized colours, she sits in scarlet heels
and greets me with a white-toothed smile that I know is meant to tease.
A blue skirt lies loose, with space for hands to slide above the knees.
She is the perfect mistress (except, alas, in one regard) –
always immaculate, always wanting, never replete,
and with breath in the morning that is always sweet.
Of all my subscribers, I rely on her the most
to respond with a Like to my uploaded post.
She whispers in the morning, when I’m half awake
to tell me all the pleasures that she’d like to take
in French-accented verses that disregard the rules;
and dips in the waters with her virtual hand
to find my holothurian…
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