On Tap (Poetry)

I make them up.
No, not in front of friends -
they know I have no need of men.
But on the page I sow
some fantasy, a little physical desire,
and feel the embers glow
somewhere inside.

That old, redundant fire -
romance - leaps in the eyes
of heroes I create.
They march in tall, dark print
and wink their dot, dot, dots
with hints seductive.
And I enjoy the plot -

it's often all I've got
to tame a restless evening.
A secret man-on-tap,
tanned fit to suit my whim,
complete with violin (for wooing)
and I model him
with a passion's grand conceiving -

a safe toboggan ride
down pulsing A4 sides,
without a sign of grief
to blot the virgin paper.
My old, unskilled mistakes
severely tippexed underneath
a happy-ever-after.

(Note: first published under the name Jean M. Thomas)