for some tiny minutes,
i miss seeing you rising naked from the bed.
you know, the way you,
you, uhm you…
tilt your head and smile at me as i rub
slumber from my eyes and rob your skin
back for some minutes more.
i was at peace looking at you drinking
water from the bottle,
i miss wondering about the motion of your
Adam’s apple.

+
dear you,
do you miss throwing all your sweat-soaked
clothes on the floor and run under the rain?
dear you,
do you ever realize that being kids means being
less fearful of the unknown?
as you age, you read about phobia,
your movies warp you scared.

#
i am at peace, dancing naked
in front of the mirror.
today, no one will make me feel
i was never
b e a u t i f u l.

^
some people make you feel naked
and battered.
others write on your back
as you coil in agony and cold.
a very few may tell you,
your breasts or your penis
are of the perfect size and texture,
believe them.

~
you will meet someone
who will make you feel the difference
of just-a-fuck
and
really-make-love,
both types of people
will start the story,
naked.


i seldom write about real love,
and when i do,
i know and i am certain
it’s TRUE, unadulterated, unbound, bare.
what about the other sweet poems?
aha, they are but explosions
of blurry longings, nude art in disguise.

=
a husband, went home,
the wife felt strange.
she saw whores from his eyes
but still,
they killed the broken maps
on their bodies when they began
to kiss and lick,
naked.

*
i only take off my clothes infront
of someone i wanted to keep for the
rest of my life
but funny how sometimes,
we have to pick those cotton,
piece by piece,
because we may share the same wants
but different needs.

^
governments wear petticoats and girdles,
the church wear pantyhose stockings,
relationships wear chains and masks,
not knowing that truth
is naturally,
naked.
(how i wish justice and integrity do not wear t-back)


*
the next time i will get naked,
it will be the fall of adjectives
and adverbs,
the death
of pronouns:
he, him, his, us.