He is standing in front of the bathroom mirror
Counting hairs on his chin
Two more than yesterday morning! He says giddy with excitement
That’s great dear.
I wrap my arms around his waist
Boxer briefs
And a bound chest

I remember the pretty blue dress
How I wanted to unzip it
Slide it off
And watch it hit the floor
It would have been so easy to touch him
Am I a bad person if I say I miss it?

New jaw line
New voice
New body
Can I still see you the same if you look like a stranger
I’m terrified
Terrified of waking up and not feeling the same I did yesterday

He never lets me see him naked
Without his armor
Ace bandages
Black boxers holding silicone between his legs
That isn’t quite the right color

There is no life there
No blood
No warmth
I like his face over me
Clawing at his back
I can look into his eyes
But I know he can’t feel anything
He won’t let me
He leaves his shirt on

We play this game of touch-me-not
He always wins  
Once a month
3 to 7 days
He calls himself an abomination
Not quite man not quite woman

He says we don’t fit together
Because I am an outlet but he is not a plug
He says we do not match up except we do to me
We match up in the way you smile when you catch me looking at you
We match up in the way you make me laugh
We match up in the way you linger even after you have left

This. Is. Hard.
I may not bind my chest
Or wear boxers
Or jab myself with needles every morning
But I am a girlfriend in transition too.