(after the painting by Arshile Gorky)
They take no particular form
any and all
the scent of them
sometimes their eyes find me
in my hidden room
search corners, closets
find me curled in a ball of twine
and I am theirs
the touch of them invades
my dreams, I dream
of the softness of their hands
so soft, so tight, their scent
says, “come”
I hold my tongue against
the palate of my mouth
say, “yes”—
I am drawn
I am the one seduced
by the perfume of their need.
Burlesque Press 