to finally touch a woman was no simple thing.
It was in some way, like
a newborn
crying out;  
pleading/begging
for
the gory
familiarity of the womb;
yet, curious about
the doom
that awaits:
the heartache,
the toothache:
the sudden rush of blood that meets
the cheeks when a moment of
terror creeps up.
Touching her, in the sublet-
paying triple for my own space,
I faced her.
In the California King:
sheets made of nerves and
soft humming;
I opened my mouth,
my hair spilled about.
neighbors unaware of the
sudden quake of demolition.
My body in a construction
site, rebuilt, cemented,
and collected as an
entirely new property.
The room carrying me
Like a child, eyes opened
To what I had been missing.