Fever

It's dawn when I wake

from his flaming body.

Later he rests his head between my thighs

slowly exhaling in his sleep.

I sit by him as he soaks in the bathtub

my fingers working their way against his skin.

His frame is melting when I caress his hair

and sometimes it feels

like his defences are crumpling.

"Damn it, you have a wonderful touch,"

he murmurs

his hands around my waist.

His vulnerability

at times gives me pleasure

at times gives me grief.

I'm kind of glad

the affair will end the way it will.

I'd hate 

for the tenderness to turn bitter 

at the tips

of my sorry

limbs.

Denied impulse

When you got mad
I had this impulse
to ask you to my home.
Except I though
you'd say no
so I
didn't whisper a word.

(I'll probably
regret
this tomorrow.)

He said

He asked

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Friends are coming over

just hanging around."

And he said 

"Hanging out

hanging out.

You keep hanging out with friends

and you never invite me."

We were speeding up past cars

the wind in my hair.

Boy, I thought,

what are you trying to do?

It's no good getting access

to worlds you will soon lose.

I couldn't see his face.

Bullets on the street

I'm getting tired of being asked
why women are so "sensitive".
People don't seem to understand
that when you grow up learning
to expect unwanted hands from every direction
even a word on the street
can feel like a bullet.
And it's aiming at you.

Fragments*

Bite marks on my back
and your pelvis.
With us it's all about
silent resignation
nails and sinking teeth
and ice cream and movies
and little unimportant things in between.
I cherish this intimacy you have given me,
I want you to know that.
Still
you remain a stranger
and I don't look forward
to you forgetting me.

(Though I highly encourage it)