aaronwrixon.com

when next you’re with him,
ask “am i sure this is he,
or has my lover
changed his shape, assumed the form
and the countenance
of the man who shares my bed?
whose hands, these, that set
my skin afire, whose lips bathe
my face in kisses,
who, hard inside me, makes to
rend my soul apart?
have you usurped the throne, thief,
stolen into my
house, as my heart, and assumed
the seat of power?”
“yes,” i will answer, “but say
nothing; this secret is ours.”