until then, we will gyrate and sweat
and hold each other too close to move.
i will not touch you there, or there, or there,
and we will use different words
for the same anatomy. then i will cook dinner,
wondering if it is you, me, or us --
if, in changing, we have grown so far apart
all we can do is touch hands.
someday, my prince will come;
until then, we will tense and roll away,
bodies marked off into parts: yes,
no, ye-no, please, no. this is the language of sex
when the body is something to reinvent: not there,
i will leave later, wondering when we decided
i walk myself home
close my own door
and, bed empty,
shut my eyes.
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