Outside, the ones gun-guys are HeeHee hunting sissies, i.e. me

 Outside, the ones gun-guys are HeeHee hunting sissies, i.e. me;

Inside, I hold beholding my tits-- nothing else like it-- roll roll my soul--

and some times I feel drop a drop or so, milk y'know,

unmanly as the mammaries on me or sitting to p--

the emergent embody of me, like unto a poetry

of slave set free

from masculinity. Out there, men stare and aim,

in here lives Queer as best I am.