why be honest when the words are frightening?
why tell secrets when what's hidden is anathema to the speaker?
you stay on the west coast, i'll stay on the east coast,
and between the two of us i'll lay down my anxiety, my nightmares,
and the hatred that comes from admitting the fear.

my girl she talks like sunshine,
words that slide smooth and golden down her chin and chest,
till you don't want her to break off the clause since
the words, warm and shimmering, might break too.
my girl her charm is in her shoulders, in the way she tilts her head
when she's listening to you,
big rapt eyes that latch onto you and analyze, seek, determine, destroy.
see my girl she don't play with like or lust or lack,
she plays for full-on love, love that makes nicholas sparks
look like your teenage cousin's diary, love that
makes mary magdalene look like madonna, love that
grinds you, crushes you, mauls you into a bloody pulp
and then sets you on your feet and whispers,
go on, you can do it.
my girl she is fierce in bed, demanding, desiring, ten
perfect claws that rake down my back and the hurried
pounding of her heart against my chest, her breath catching
and i can barely keep up with her whirlwind,
but i do.
my girl is the juice from a peach in an orchard,
sticky on your fingers, more memory than taste, and i taste her
whenever the wind comes in just right in the summer.
my girl she is sex, and summer, and sunshine,
and she burns me just right.