You’re so bad for me.  Or good.   
                                But one of the two…

the last text, from a dream, drifting—
waking to viscous ink-stained bedroom,
sweat-laced pillow cool at your back,
glaucous sky through slats, & then
the phone comes to life

I’m just what you need.


It would be easy for you to reduce
exchange of energy & physicality
to only this
                        need & desire,
                        feeding the fire

                        left cold, in the downpour
                        of spring

she is
shield maiden to the dawn
vouchsafing night & gone
before light breaks.  I am the one
breaking under
          pink-tipped nails, escaping
through the cracks
                                         of puritan                             
                                         & patriarchal


When you come,
                                 you beg
I come                 
                   home to the me
no one’s bothered
                                  to see
or release.

You tease,
I’m trying to pull it out of you


I thought
recent months
had revealed
I was
less.                         I am


                                    I did.  Dream about you, I mean.

I thought so.
                                   Why do you say that?

I felt it.