Dear fluteman,

I adore your notes and tones
I do not move from my room
Who are you fluteman?
Why is it that you play the flute?
You don’t sell flutes I know.
Why do you wait outside my gate
while I try to disguise the lies
in my happy eyes?
There is a longing in your stare
That your wind sends to run down my back
My hair I tie and untie.
Your fingers they shut and open
the sore pores of your magic wand
I lust
A saintly sort of lust for your presence in me
In me when I feel, I write
I think
So I can blow words like you
But I blow soap bubbles instead.
There they are
They look pretty a minute and then

And then
I don’t use full stops