There’s always this one person my mind floats towards when I’m horny. Like a piece of driftwood in a stream. It’s going and going in his direction. Straight to his erection. I’m a poet. And it’s frustrating that it’s a ghost from the past that won’t let me into the light. I thought we were over this… you. I’ve hated how time and time again, I’ve surrendered to you the way cockroaches crawl out of their burrows to die. Not this time.