LITTLE POETRY

He says I am gumpopper,

      wondrous shoulders,

evil on the days when I bleed.

I say take hold of both my hands.

      He speaks cool water on me,

nudges my mood with a proverb.

I watch him undress, skin

      unto another skin, and I turn

away to keep from craving that.

By the time his hands

      touch my shoulders,

I am almost insane

with disappearing,

and the thunder.