I wander among desks, numbing my life with work,
and you storm in with your sexuality in your hands,
wrapped up in romance and expectations,
and you offer it to me, all at once or in installments
of compulsory drama and tears
and gratuitous laugh and joy
and I accept it as if it had always been there
ready to go, ordered by me,
and in exchange I leave my sexuality
wrapped up or simply bared in front of you,
and thus we exchange our gifts till dusk comes
and the days is over and I go back home,
and I rest my boredom in my four-walled holliday.
