Thoughts from a place where I wish there was no fear, and that I hope my parents don't read.

I leave the door unlocked,
and the lights on 
in a city that wishes to ravage me. 

I both seek and detest that kind of ownership, 
substitute it with prayers of indifference and still,
a feverish kind of longing for substance-- 

I enshrine myself in stolen moments of intimacy, 
plundered from the lips of boys who never ask or stay the night, 
even though I always offer

and fall asleep to the mantra, 
piteous and pious-- 
see me again, see me again, want me again 

a bare brush of lone lips against a comforter 
almost large enough for two.