Just the other night I was dancing with a friend
of a friend & he got handsy & I got servant-minded

letting him move his grip from my waist to my hips
& lower, while a Motown bass boomed through the opaque

& sweaty darkness. It wasn’t guilt I felt
when I decided I was obliged to let him

explore the finer points of my swaying
body. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe

it was my own desire to be desired, since, if a man
wants me, I know I have at least a little worth left.