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.