Four thousand six hundred fifty two miles away
from my small town front door to the bed where you lay.
One thousand one hundred fifty minutes from you,
a long time to travel but I'd do it for you.
Two hundred thirty two days  since you left,
two hundred thirty one nights without rest.
A million statistics but none that I see
that will ever be enough to keep you from me.

somewhere along this path,
i've lost a part of me.

(from a song)

Perhaps I was born kneeling,
born coughing on the long winter,
born expecting the kiss of mercy,
born with a passion for quickness
and yet, as things progressed,
I learned early about the stockade
or taken out, the fume of the enema.
By two or three I learned not to kneel,
not to expect, to plant my fires underground
where none but the dolls, perfect and awful,
could be whispered to or laid down to die.

Now that I have written many words,
and let out so many loves, for so many,
and been altogether what I always was?
a woman of excess, of zeal and greed,
I find the effort useless.
Do I not look in the mirror,
these days,
and see a drunken rat avert her eyes?
Do I not feel the hunger so acutely
that I would rather die than look
into its face?
I kneel once more,
in case mercy should come
in the nick of time.

bathe me
since you long for intimacy
I'm here baby,
still you do not see

caress this skin
forgive this sin
give me passion
if you can

tell me I'm beautiful
if you dare
"look at me" said the mirror
I know you care!

turn off the lights
relax, don't fight
*and make love to
your body tonight