So we saunter up to each new prospect,
slow and sly and seductive in our invitations.
"Look at what made me this way.
Wouldn't you like to see?" More
and more until we've disrobed and dismantled ourselves
to the absolute limits of our abilities (our willingness?).
We repeat this display of sacred
shedding until we finally elicit that awe-inducing look
of "concerned understanding" -  we complain
that we are misinterpreted in Cassady fashion
when we make no real efforts to be understood.
"Care most about me." Let me mystify you with myths of me,
perverse nursery rhymes lulling you into a slumber inside my skull
from which you will wake with a start,
demanding release from that citadel you so wished to infiltrate
when it was your hands that needed warming.