David Bowie Sings for Us

My boyfriend is wearing my best lacy thong,

sprawled out across my loft bed.

My i-pod is playing its tenth Bowie song,

and there's lipstick

on him

on me

chili red.

What a wonderful day 

for a girl

or a boy

or both in one beautiful form.

Stubble on chin,

breasts of flushed, rosy skin,

in a tight pushup bra—

damn the norm!

He calls me "big boy,"

as I tidy up,

then I'm Mistress,

he's sissy,

or son.

And I haven't the slightest what's what, or who's who,

but I certainly know this is fun.

(2010)