the sun shuffles behind the tree
you chase the shadows as if you really have to pee
thank god the hardness of your step
gives your breasts another breath

where was i, where have i been
in all the years before you were eighteen
it feels unreal for me to feel a fatherly pride
that you, my future bride, would make one hell of a sex slave

we haven't met, or spoken since
that heavenly meeting of fate and chance
when i was washing my post-tournament judo pants
and you were washing something that i'm sure
would look good on you