the man who touches you also touches
the other women of the city, this special
man who you chose to be your first man
even after you’ve met so many men who
wanted to know you as a woman even
after you travelled around France and
studied their translations or history even
after you took me into your house when
I brought myself there and you had wine
and cheese ready for any occasion even
after you bought your own car and parked
on the wrong side of the street on purpose
even after you thought you might be with
a child from a man who touched you and
the other women of the city even when
you said if it’s too late for you then it’s too
late for me after I quoted my own mother
even after the quiet air of your kitchen
reminded us of being in a mother’s womb
even after you gave up on all people for
the sake of your own soul except this man
who dares to know you as a woman on
the outside and thinking that all women
merge together on the inside like a soup
no less and you stare into my eyes while
cooking and you say I just don’t know
what people want I just want to give up
on knowing anything at all
