i am not prayer; i am poetry
and exist within
(and outside)
a realm of preconceived notions
about choices from august nights

and i still experience
that uncomfortable humidity
that pours from hot breath and hollow hearts

have you ever stopped to think
that i am more than
a look on my face
(an aparent sign of ****** activity)
and that the feelings we share are not mutual

i am sexless
and will not submit myself to: *** of sorry/
of fifty mile travels/
or because you are homesick/
or because you walked me to my car
parked 50 feet away

because i am more that fifty feet
and i am more than prayers and poems