I want to pour you thirteen cups of tea, / strawberry and cranberry, twirling, swirling, / like your eyebrows lifted when I said I didn’t want to have sex.
All in Poetry
I want to pour you thirteen cups of tea, / strawberry and cranberry, twirling, swirling, / like your eyebrows lifted when I said I didn’t want to have sex.
All are secret dances / I do not know the steps to. / Some I regret not knowing / more than others.
They call xym on the phone sometimes. / By mutual unspoken agreement, no / one speaks of the dam, though xe knows / what they think, and they know / xe knows.
He sheds tears for your ignorance, but breathes / relief, unburdened of long-unwanted antiques.
I’m not a woman nor am I a man / Nor any gender known under the sun.
I suppose I was unhappy with myself / Until my body started resembling an unwelcome guest / Maybe I just never gave it much thought / I let people paint and put a name on it