I find you in Silom, Tribeca, Montclair:
sentient steak in heat, shirtless, faceless
meat. How’s it going? Got more pics to share?
Briefly you gaze back, disappear. Don’t care
for Asians, sorry, you’re scrolling between sets,
flexing in mirrors in Silom, Tribeca, Montclair.
Respond when I reflect, compliment your hair,
insist your sculpted flesh radiates sex: Yes!
Love your scruff. Got more pics to share?
Does endless praise arouse you, mon cher?
Repay me in glimpses. My tongue’s relentless,
reaping pics from Silom, Tribeca, Montclair.
Modesty unmans you—lose the underwear.
Even the witty, clean-cut geeks undress
when banter ebbs. Got more pics to share?
No limp handshake, no lost time, nowhere
I want to meet. Do you think I’d confess
my every deceit in Silom, Tribeca, Montclair?
I prefer what I create from all the pics you share.
