how jealous I am
It's confined me to my room
to my eyes
perhaps my lips, parted
or the curve between my neck and shoulders
-- but only one at a time

Never in bright sunlight;
the foghorn sounds
a warning
to anyone who might get close and hear my voice

Dearest, born so late in life
I see you crying alone
And yes... you are alone.

there is no one to follow any
more
curly headed boy hiding in your mother's skirt
That part is over.

Hold me
publicly,
so I know it's real.

Nothing could be warmer than my tears,
and isn't it true you felt a chill?

My name is--