my therapist says i do in fact have a body
& i am desirable & there are those that want me
to know & thru my teeth clenched like walls i say
okay. on I-95 the noseeums end their fervor
against the car’s window. they want what i have:
blood, flesh, fear, omega-3s & whatever else i clench
my skin around like a fist. with its heavy tongue,
Orlando pulls sweat up & on my back, glistens
my neck with its lips & the touch of its hollow
fingers. as a child, the rats scattered when the light
crashed into the kitchen. they let the dark shield
their desire. not the bees though. they’ve been giddy
with themselves, tender with the thick stamen
& the filament that might gush forth. upon my waking
this morning, a mosquito made its way up my calves
with its kisses, up the thighs. i did not get its name
before its departure, so i count its memories, its gifts,
mounds, hickey, pain & itch. i shrug, okay, as i close my eyes
& let my jaw loose & tap each new door with a fingernail.