He Kissed my Thigh

Sometimes he slips,

and calls me Mama.

He kissed my thigh

that day while playing

robbers.

No cops, just robbers.

There, now we

are married.

Oh to be three—

when life was

about simple,

pure emotions.

There is no

convoluted,

socially acceptable,

tainted evaluation

of what should be.

Just love.

After whispering

from across the lawn

how he loved me,

he mentioned

how I am not

used

to real love.

It threw me

off, and I sat

and thought,

while he frolicked

in the grass, drinking

his vanilla milk.

I’ll let it lie,

and hope he isn’t

right.