This one's called, "The Peach State", and thank you Hannah.
"You used to bite your lips lying there
on my couch receiving my massages after long chemistry
tutorials.
We were classmates then, and being touched
was how you touched me back.
Your scented lotion thighs, my first open sesame.
Your snap, 'watch it, boy'.
You had a boyfriend then.
Same as the tour guide at Monticello saying,
it was just as likely TJ's brother was the one who
slept with Sally Hemings.
Or my saying TJ had Phoenician blood
and was partly Mohammadan.
Your brother gave you your nickname, you said.
Thin water jets used to miss you in the shower.
I said, I loved that part of your body.
'They're called love handles', you taught me, and smiled.
Your father, a doctor who worked as if he'd live forever,
prayed as if he'd die tomorrow, another Mohammadan motto
Benjamin Franklin abided by.
Your mother wanted you to marry me after I'd made my bed.
I never did kiss you, or had known a first kiss.
Your sorority perfume and banana Honda.
My kneading what bulged of your breasts
while you lay there, cat hair all around us."