Five or Six or Seven or Eight...

Baby things were always great...

Still able to cry...

Still diapered & fed...

Still always erect

& you never knew dread.

You didn't resist me

& in fact you pursued me...

Though you never kissed me

& later you cursed me

when growing up "straight"

you forgot that you loved me.

You always felt wonderful

inside & above me.

You were a child the same

time as I was...

We were both children

who surrendered because

we both had desires that

no one understood...

We both knew we both

would do all we could

to satisfy cravings

desires & wantings...

And now I'm caught up

in these baby hauntings...

But crybabies weeping

don't live long to haunt...

Babies grow up;

All that's left is the want.

- For Michael -