I may have made you up although you live
without my leave, for I remember you
before we met. Impossible? Forgive
my warm presumption, but perhaps it’s true
that we have known each other all along.
For only that can justify the lust
I feel to lie with you, embrace, belong
and smile at you, with no ideas discussed.

You’re bald, but you have fine-pored skin of gold.
You’re fat but gaze from eyes of warmth and wit.
Your moods are inappropriate – you scold
me when I’m perfect and then voice a fit
apology. A tenant in my head,
your better residence would be my bed.