Are you sincere when you talk
of having my children and the pleasures
of forever? Or are you speaking
in heat, taken far from your true
feelings by the undertow
of our coupling? Do you mean
what you scream when I’m inside you,
jackhammering through debris
that has been discarded from ivory
tower windows over the years?
Will the passion on your lips
remain after I paint your interior
walls in a fresh coat of white?
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen