of course I feel like a child
inviting him to step
closer: this white
man full of breasts:
this bulge peeking
through fingers–
pockets of mouth.
i throat him
and he undresses
my scars. the doorway tall.
hinged with veins of metal
and the jangle of things
buttoning. but i stare
at bottles standing
in our shoes.
— Raven Jackson