I have a body to show you because I was born.

Try to remember the winter. Try to knock down the door with your thoughts. It’s hard, the way my mouth moves forward on you. I have a tongue to wet. A throat to wait.

When the siren moves down the road outside, I am here. The arms I wear at night are a different set. There was no one on the fire escape last time. Tonight, I will a neighbor or a goat. A word I use too frequently. Like every word, because that is all.

Sound changes. The drum is a bit slower, breathy. If I wanted to make your heartbreak, I’d meet you outside. The stairs rise behind me as I push you down, down. You spread it all over me. I want it more over. Move uh-huh. I march to the side, disorder to the bottom. Cloves through my nostrils. A headache. The urchin, my nipple, my waste.

Stop it, Alexis Pope (via Banango Street)