Two-hundred and Seventy-three: Roam Me

Come, boy. Grope me. Roam me like a jeep over dunes.
Take me, boy. I am not waiting for anybody else.
I can dance to this tune with my eyes closed.
I know exactly where my hands are supposed to go.
Yes, taste these anonymous lips.
I guess I’ll let you hold my hand.
Kiss my forehead as if you care
and know I’d let you if I dared.

This is safe.
I can taste as many boys as I want
because there is no space
for anything else.

At home I shake sand and flowers from my hair.
If we pretend I need to be saved,
and that you can be the one to do it,
I’ll let you grope me, roam my body
like a jeep over dunes.

Summer 2010

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Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

5 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Seventy-three: Roam Me”

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