Always Messing with them Boys
Jessica Helen Lopez            

I Would Love Like This If I Were You

If I were a man I would be dashing
not unlike the silver tip of sword
and the black cloak of Zorro, I
the mustachioed lip of hero and swooning love

If I were a man Ifd whisper silvery minnows
that darted like intimate whispers
into your naked coiled ear of cupped flesh
silver flashes of true light
Ifd waste away in your breath
and sweet feminine sweat
Ifd gulp your musk from a greedy goblet
I would be the suicidal Romeo of your reverie

If I were a man I would be the
woman you always wanted me to be
the silence that only the trees can bring
when there is no wind to speak of

I would cup you like a womb and
be the barefoot male divinity
that of brute arm and dark hair
thick pelvis and broad waist
ripened shoulder and indestructible Achilles

I would take my cloak and
cover your nakedness
swashbuckle my way
into your memory

Ifd be Bogart without the ego
Orson Welles without the selfishness

I would color your world
with all of the creative
energy I could muster

If I were a man Ifd be
debonair and strike your fancy
the Laurence Olivier of glittering
desert and silk tents
yellow flapping yards of fabric
curling around the breeze
curling around the dry sun
that festoons your desolate sky

I would tiptoe around your clouds
offer my sinuous desire and motherly love
I would smooth the wrinkles
from your sad coat

I am no Diego
I would paint no one but you
jealous and guarded of your russet form

If I were your man
Ifd bow my lovely head
like the soft brow of a velvety doe
I would surrender beneath the fern

Listen to me coo for you
like a flock of doves
like the spent rain
over summer mountains

Ifd rent a thousand knives
of poetry into your quintessence
sweep over the Mojave as rain does

I would sprout for you,
the unexpected green life
from the parched cracked lip of dirt

If I were a man
I would clasp you to me
save myself in a silver locket
that breathes against your clavicle
and lay like soft metal against
the skin over your lungs
the copper taste of kisses
beneath the tongue

Ifd be your burnt penny
I will be your Lorca

I would be the heart and safe sword
that held you like I would want to hold myself

If I were a man I would be dashing

The Don Quixote
of your afternoon poem
frail skinny old man with
the heart of a golden lion

I would trip over you like a windmill
paint you like a Spanish cubist
juxtapose your breasts against
the oil paint of strange angle
the awkward beauty of shape and sharp lines

drink me like watermelon
ample flesh and emerald rind
the ruby fruit fashioned from the
lovely garden of the aged contented wife

Drink me like a garden

I will not elude you
I will toil within you
I will be dashing through and through