He was right, they were all wearing
gladiator sandals. Some with heels,
so not sandals. I needed a big piece
but said no, not in the shower. We
all stood disappointed, looking at
each other, steaming, hungry.
“Anything makes me horny,” he
said. Under the spray, back against
the wall, I fetch his eyes, his face,
his whiskers, his eyes, the little
shaved hairs on the top of his
chest and shoulders,
slightly sunburned from Las
Vegas, his eyes, a kiss—
I love him. I want to say
he will want to be mine.
I want it. I have this. A
kick. A Roman knot.
Will always have.
