New England

by Christos Polydorou

I do not dream of you
anymore. What for?
It makes me feel like such

a whore, and I am a gentleman, at
least I work hard to be. I open
doors and compliment the

stylish. I take a while to choose
long stem roses. I am actually clumsy, and oddly prudish. Set in my Emily

Dickinson New
England ways, because sex is so conflicting. Sex

makes me so nervous. Sex, a time outside time for the
spirit to rest below

the heavens until the lover
and the beloved
drown.

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