Gigolo

You are late, I tell him,
But with a sheepish grin,
He holds me, my whim.
There’s no gain
If I complain,
If all I want is sin.


It is late, to drink or dine,
Or to be civilized,
We lie in the cold, say you’re mine,
I recline and watch as he strips
Is it fine when his nose drips,
Is this act ritualized?


It is not late, when it’s done,
I wish I could pay,
Than wait for morning sun,
When I share eggs and toast
And news and office boast,
Alas, at the door, come home early, I say.