One person arrived in the night to make love to me.
He claimed me, unlike you,
who couldn't handle me.
Ah, he appeared sweet and mature,
and he was Jewish.
Does that surprise you?
I don't know why 1 am being prepped for a man.
I am living the life of Emily Dickinson
who burned for her Master.
I am having sex with strangers in dreams,
men in black hats and all the while there is one
watching.
You can't read me. I am not one of my poems.
Steal this. Steal a kiss.
You can never read me.
