Who am I?


I watch you take
your clothes on and off again.
On because I left the room.
On in the name of pursuit.
Off because I returned.
Off because you want
to connect the lines
of our bodies.

I stand behind you
wearing too many clothes.
Your thoughts are tugging
at my heartstrings.
Your thoughts float across
the jagged surface
of my subconscious
like paper boats.
Sincerely situated.
Perfectly adaptive.

You recline on the bed
and I can tell by your expression
that you are aware
of my underlying nakedness,
of my threadbareness,
of the wetness
gathering between my thighs.
I am aware of you,
the way that one is aware
of the force of water
only when buried underneath
a collapsing wave.

You reach out your hand.
I cut my sentence off midway.
My words are redundant,
you already know who I am.
You inch closer
and fear exits my heart.
Every part of my body
has a pulse and every pulse point
a fire worth repeating.
I know where I belong
because I know who you are.