I wish I could see the world

in the way I write about it

I wish I believed in

my description of people

I wish I was the person

behind the poem

I wish you would take off

both your necklaces

and let me lick you underneath

the scarier it gets the fiercer

I want you—the pleasanter

it gets the harder

I want you too, I want you

both above

and underneath, I want you

at five am, saying you want to

fuck me forever, I want you

to miss me whenever I get up

to take a piss

I know there are rules—for

poetry, for privacy, for my own

safety; I just don’t know where

I left myself, just as I don’t

know why your scent appears

suddenly, I only know

I have to live with that, like

I live with this body of

pixie dust and brass knuckles