I was naked in his bed after we fucked.
I felt no tenderness like rain, just cold.
When I write from the heart, I’ll let you know.
Until now it’s just been one feeling after the other.
I am not a thing you can just drive around
or a body you can throw on the bed,
until I ask you to. And then I am.
We drove past hills, suburban neighborhoods,
and I wondered what he wanted from me.
The streets so empty, as if we were driving nowhere.
He parked by the beach, looked at me while he touched me
through my panties, and I made noises,
and I didn’t know if they were real.
If I could make these moments more important, I would.
But what if I said they led nowhere at all?
I know I’ll stand many years from now,
by an airport kiosk or a shoreline,
and feel the softness of his belly,
the second of glee on his face.
The human body can do more than breathe
and bend. It can become heavy
as a diving board or slick as rain.
My body is not pornographic. It is not
your truth serum or homecoming.
My body carries its weight in words and whispers.
My body carries its words in whispers. My body whispers.
Eyes wide open, I offer myself to a new boy and watch him grow.
This summer I am losing everything.