Dick Cavett

I miss your gentle smarminess your wry
banter  glib but empathetic  the promise
of your large shapely sophisticated cock
bulging ever so lightly against the excellent fit
of well-tailored trousers.
Where have you gone, Dick
my boy  my late-night fantasy
Oh I'll bet you'd have been
surprised to know the
things I did to my naked self
while I watched you smoothly slide your
way into the not-too-private-parts of the
lives of your guests, your voice warm, clear,
the hint of smugness in it a product of
your extensive education a palpable
presence, a controlled resonance,
kept in check, politely, correctly,
the overall effect of your lovely voice
your finely honed masculine voice
rising and falling with witty musicality, you
night-time crooner you,
your demeanor so smooth
and unruffleable that you'd
have probably even known just the
right thing to say to me,
doing things to my naked self
in my dark room, oh I'll bet
you'd have known exactly what to
say at the exact moment I
creamed into my pungent towel,
and you'd have said it
with just the right inflection,
and given the moment, the touch of dignity
that it seemed to deserve.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Chiron Review, Vol XII, issue #3, Autumn 1993.)