If I could be a man with you--
slap your ass, pass you a cigar,
we'd tight rope walk Philadelphian roof tops
with a bottle of Jameson.
Close to your penis, I would wrestle you
in front of girls-- jealous of our brotherhood--
your soap and English skin, slipping
sweat against mine.
I'd listen to talk of women,
breasts and cunt--
feeling privileged, and a little dirty.
Meeting at the river, we'd be naked
in moonlight, and I'd pretend not to notice.
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