Takaaki, I just love these boxer shorts:
My balls are big so they bounce easier
When dancing now and a hard-on distorts
The fabric. Breezier—not sleazier—
Than those tight briefs I’m used to wearing,
They ride two inches lower on my hips.
My mother tells me that I am sharing
My ass with everyone. The waistband slips.
I tell her Newton will not be denied
His little apple. If that fruit is me—
Who am I to argue? I take pride
In all the interest which gravity
Shows in my bum—electricity, too—
Each force in nature binding me to you.
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