By jills@wam.umd.edu
Date: 19 September 1998

jeff, the truck driver

my mysterious, stargazing,
in-the-grass-romping,
wild little boy- 
with whom I want to make love to 
in the wet grass and 
drive beat-up trucks with
cross country.
who needs motel 6
when you've got a big backseat?
let's live
like we've been telling each other to
only with the wrong people.
I want to hold this world still
when wrapped up in you.
I want to know you
like the poet, fire*eater you are.
I want to read you
like a children's book.*
come here butterfly-
before you flutter by- 
I want to remember you like this.
perfect, free, lusty, wet
rolling around on the grass in plain view, yet
no one sees
'cause no one lives like we do. 


(*- With apologies to Nancy Bulalacao)