darling, have you heard of the invisible
men? they are all around us, dancing.
they are the pricks in your cough
when you kiss me, when you tug
down my short chemise
and kiss my thighs. they are the children
we can’t have, the dreams scheduled
and forgotten, the sense of otherness
I always feel when you step
into a room: you are saying nothing
but you are talking, you are telling
me the wet blond truth; I expected this
from shit-awful society but
not from you.