Restrained love, reined in

As he dreams of fucking his girl,

Snug in his bed, secure and enveloped

By the love of those he grew up with,

I fantasize about a fickle, hollow man,

Scarce interested in pushing himself.

Rugby is the sole exception to that,

The bane of my existence of course,

There, on the pitch, gorgeous men gathered and played rough,

My mouth watered, as I practiced with my bow,

Learning which chords to play in orchestra.

I bear that woman no grudge at all,

But still feel downcast at her audacity;

She got to him first, clinging tightly,

To a jock who hardly knows his manners,

Gratitude should be wafting off me, for saving me the heartbreak.

My mind is somehow hell-bent on having me dream of him,

Absent reasonable thought trajectory or triggering rationale,

There is something akin to torture,

In the languid but delicious taste of yearning,

For a man who deserves it not.

How many times must I be told to cease my fascination,

Curb and suppress my heart’s longing,

Coax my body to be aroused by some other stud,

There is no shortage of stunners in this land,

But where will I find someone with eyes as expressive as his?