before the sex:
a party
hung around
till tail lights
only us then
he slid hands
I started to cry
“we don’t have to.”
and
“Do you like to be
a little spoon?”
and
“It’s okay to cry”
courting and all that—
“take care of you.” stuff
and
sleep and waking
in sunrise stranger’s bed
and my best friend
asleep in the next room
later,
a date
Mexican restaurant
and tequila
and later,
his place
he’s pulling
my pants off
and telling me
they aren’t that
flattering
a boys cut
dropped crotch
cords
was I born
to wear flattering
pants—
this is my thought.
and still,
I f*ck him.
don’t do it, I say
but
in my head
and the condom
it’s in his hand
and I feel
n o t h i n g.
and i feel every-
thing
half-fascinated.
half-proving some-
thing
ya know,
to myself?
wanting to know
what it could feel like
to let someone new
inside me
now I’m naked
and he keeps
telling me
how sexy I am
but he can’t cum
and he’s remorseful
and frustrated
and ashamed
I comfort him
it happens, I say.
it’s okay, I say.
it happens
to women
all the time,
I say,
and men too.
I’ll be the big spoon
days,
weeks,
months,
later,
after the sex
and more sex
and the kind
where he cums
and I cum
and the kind
where we don’t
and I ask him
to handcuff me
cuz it’s the kind
of place I’m in
“I don’t want anyone
else touching you,”
he says.
what he doesn’t say:
what is your love language
it’s a privilege to touch you
what do you want
what do you need
you are intelligent
you are capable
you are beautiful
I am lucky
to spend time
with you
who was little you?
you are worthy
of love
and I’d like to
love you
if you will let me
how do you like
to be touched?
is this okay?
do you feel safe?
does this feel good?
tell me how you like
to be held
to be fed
to be taken
to bed
and me,
I’m in love with a girl
I’ve never touched.
and her laugh
tastes like sunlight
and she tells me
truths
she’s never shared
on midnight
park benches
and I want
to belong
to her
I think
I get a little gayer
every time a man
tries to control me
contain me
or right me
on feelings
belonging to me
or explain to me
how every little
thing should be.
I get more
_independent_
every time
any time
any person
desires only
to own me
I’ll collect
the moon
with bare hands
for who sees
me who frees
me in a wink
round a kitchen
sink passing me
a cup of tea.
cornered,
I. will. run.
I tell him
it’s her
it’s her
I want.
I want her
think I could
love her
I’ve never spoken
these words
out loud
my throat
a door with
a busted bolt
and here’s the rub:
he lets me
practice
going down
his head
on the ground
in the carpet
Gently, I kiss
his side-ways
bearded
mouth.
stoney,
and giggly
and
stone cold
sincere,
I lick his pair of
bristle lips
and imagine.
he sets me free.
I set me free.
she sets me free.
we set me free.
I wipe his tears.
and decide
he can stay
stick around
ya know, my life.
different.
yeah different.
but he can stay.
maybe all along
we’d been meant
to bro down
or un-bro
ourselves
for me to feel
with more
than lips
all the ways
I’d like to love
a woman.
maybe I’m that woman.
