There will be boys with long hair—
blond boys, bunned boys, boys whose heads
I kiss that coat my lips with grease.
There will be bartender boys, bass-hooking
boys, painters and plumbers and buttoned-up
botany boys. Grocers and gas-guzzlers
and boys who boast an absent gag reflex.
Transatlantic boys who will feed me
scoops of curry I savor and bits
of fish I spit out. There will be
deadbeat boys, selfish guitar-strummers
who rip lines from poems I swore
would never go to print. Clueless
boys, first-time fucks, try-me-on
-for-size straight boys. Boys
with dimpled laughter, boys two heads
taller—quiet, simple giants who hold
me during movies. Horny horror
crazed boys, South Beach dieticians,
Instapoet upvote boys. Boys I get
to leave. Boys I won’t leave
soon enough. Shattered mug against
mirror boys. Scream when they get pissed
boys. Whiskey-sour-sopped boys,
faceless profile fuckbois, lonely
limp liars and Harley-revving leather
boys. My heart is playing
Russian roulette, waiting to bite
the bullet of one lucky cocked
and loaded, boattail-tongued boy.