After nine months of
Asex,
Of cohabiting without
That other pleasure,
Of me:
A runaway
Too young to have you
And you:
A foreigner from the desert
Who rode a motorcycle
And fucked all summer
Women so beautiful
They were butterflies
While I suffered from childhood
And waited for my wings.
By Valentine’s Day I still hadn’t grown them
So stood topless at the kitchen sink
In old pointe shoes
Running hot water over my newly cut hair
And waiting for you to
Come up behind me and
With rough hands,
Rip open each swollen unborn wing.
But you just whirl right past me
With the most beautiful one yet
And you kiss and kiss and kiss her
While my heart, like a bird blind against a window,
Breaks itself.
The next day,
I am packing up to finally leave
And baby,
You come in from fixing an old white Mercedes
And by some indecent miracle
Blacken my shoulders and breasts with
Greased up hands
And as you move into me
I burst into a pair of red red wings
And fly out the front door
You left open.