Poem for My Lover’s Limp Dick

Every spring, you are baffled
that the cold does not last
forever, that there will be a day
warm enough to feel wet
Earth beneath your bare feet
and watch the bumblebees,
soft and round and happy.
I can tie the hammock
between two trees and wait
for your body to press into mine
and remind me what sun-
kissed skin feels like. I can wait
for you to feel whole again,
but baby, it’s snowing in April
and my bed is still empty.
I close my eyes and can’t help
but long for strawberry ribs
and breathless nights, of cosmos
and heat lightning and your teeth
pulling my bottom lip as gently
as I cup a firefly from the air.
I can cover the baby’s-breaths and
wait until morning, wait for the
frost to melt, and baby, I can wait
for the sounds of birds and cicadas
and the crashing of waves and the
crashing of you into me, of feeling
so full that I could burst but instead
hold your hand and beg please,
beg don’t stop. I can wait for finger-
print rose petals to mask my body
and the gasped I love you so quiet,
I almost miss it.