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I am the kick
That rolls your eyes;
The stick that
Prompts closed thighs.

The face you could
Zealously puke at;
The curse you couldn’t
Possibly stoop at.

I am the stressor
That grits your teeth;
Never been the cursor
That clicks your clit.

I intercourse with thoughts
That tell me you will never be mine;
Thus I lace my inner loss with quotes,
“I hate you between eight and nine!”

In truth, I love you;
I love you to your bone.

©herbert Uba 2017

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