IMAGINED CONFESSION DURING A DATE AT AN ITALIAN RESTAURANT
As the red candle puddles wax on the checkered tablecloth I
confess that I want a full skirt made of parmesan that I want
every man I've ever slept with to break off creamy brittle
chunks from the round hanging heavily on my hips and feed
them to me slowly over hours over years until we find a
freedom in the exposure
how my thighs underneath are the
same color as the cheese are as lumped and fatty and
delicious and we will laugh at how we can't tell the
difference and then every man I've ever slept with will
begin again this time breaking off and feeding me pieces of
myself until I am nothing which is what I really want isn't it
ON MY LIVING ROOM COUCH
we both know I am in love with another man
as I figure eight my hips above yours
the ghosts of your aloneness escaping through your throat
is this what youth is for
hurting each other & knowing better
which we confuse for knowing why
we talk about how to protect ourselves hopeful
attempts at honesty maybe
we can be friends after we fuck maybe
I've imagined you licking the sweat riding down my neck as I touch myself
I'm always on top months from now
we will blame each other for not feeling impossibly
as the other feels yet
we continue yet I continue
knowing the fault of my confidence will protect me
that I have my partner to fall back on who says yes
and you you I'm not so sure but can pretend
what you say you want is actually what you want
and call it agency call it kindness
when you call me dangerous I think you mean I can change you
as I tug off your shirt your eyes hold so much light
