Questions, Love, or maybe Poems

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Questions, Love, or maybe Poems

 Sometimes you come in little boxes, pink
and neatly tied with lace or yellow ribbon, 
suddenly appearing as if by magic 
on the doorstep of my unexpecting mind—
no address, not even just a folding card
to tell me who it’s from. 
                                       But other times 
you hit me from behind, force a hold
until I wrestle back, and through the night
we sweat and grapple till the cock crows.  
In time I'll pin you down, but somehow in
the scuffle you'll touch my hip—(you always do)—
to cripple me and send me hobbling on
my way a little different than before.
Just swear, on oath,
to bless me first.

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