When I Asked You to Touch Me

You paused like a penguin unsure

before the dive. Thoughts like

what if a leopard seal sees me.

What if the water’s cold.

What if I regret the swim,

and I am left forever wet.

I understand—my body is scary,

is raw. You cry over me

as if I am onion. But I want you

to choke me down,

even if it hurts.

I am desperate.

I am half-rabid beneath polyester,

my desire leaking out

like an open wound.

My terms. My open legs.

Here, in Indiana, I reclaim me.

New York is just a haunt now,

a bulldozer that scoops me up

each night only to drop me down.

But tonight I am asking you to make me.

It has been months since a man

has built me well.