i gave at the door

he didn't ask me for it

but before we knew it
we were through it
and the door was just another thing
we'd left behind.

hotel beds, a meeting of the minds,
our bodies,
unrelenting in their quest,
their desire for one another

i have been unable to think
of letting it all go

so, i gave at the door
and then again on the couch

in the kitchen, my bedroom,
and if he'd had one, in his.

i gave until i bled
and we lapped it up, together
from sweaty fingers,
with dripping tongues,
vampires and cannibals

on the beach, the balcony, my car.

we think our diet is enough,
we binge and we purge,
cut calories and corners
until at last,
there will be nothing left of us

our vision will be spotty
we'll walk light-headed and slow
romantic anorectics
too caught up in the
necessity of starvation
to know
that carving off the flesh of a relationship
leaves only the bones

which are not enough for any one to live on,
let alone two.

we are headed down a street where
you turns are forbidden

we are building a house of straw
because we don't dare to use bricks

we are drinking diet shakes
thinking it will be enough,
but our bodies are getting desperate
our hearts are getting tired
of all this work
designed to keep them safe
from one another.

our words spill out of us
letters and lips
we gush and we moan

we thrive on the lushness
of the valley between us
of the peaks we arrive at
dizzy and panting
and living for now.
just now.

it breaks his heart to think
of breaking mine

he never asked for it,
but before we knew it
we were through it

and the door was just another thing
we'd left behind.

[Provincetown, 2001]