Wiggle my fingers, yep, all there.
Toes, too.
So I guess I am like a tree; roots in
the moist soil, fingers in the breeze.
Girl tree or boy tree?
Have you ever asked that question?
Been frightened when you cannot tell?
Nah.
But me, I make you sweat.
My skin is soft, my breast fills your hand,
my nipple is large enough to suck, and
your hands,
your hands,
want to follow the curve.
But they don't.
Uncertain territory down there.
And so you
cough
blush
mutter
and leave.
I?
I.
Yes, again, just
I.
(February 1998)