I could love a woman

gentle, not baby,
but the careful way one
polishes silver. Fork, knife,
spoon with her. In the bathroom,
I'd watch as she lotioned her face--
paying extra care around the eyes.
I'd brush my teeth and spit when
she was looking. When we'd watch tv,
I'd play with her nipples-- pinch,
not so it hurt, but 'til it felt good.
We'd have no need of Romeo;
no use for his sonnets or balcony
climbing. We'd speak poetry over
breakfast and know that the other is,
not compared to, the sun.