Sunday, December 13th, 2015

It's the fact that he claims to know me

in that way that bothers me.

That he pretends to know the exact spot my back begins to curve,

the moles on the backs of my thighs,

and that scar from my last surgery,

that extends the length of my breasts.


I do not mind men knowing me in this way.

The way my sheets smell as we tussle in-between them.

The way my cat can be heard circling throughout the room the entire time,

as if waiting for the whole ordeal to be over.

The way I moan just before that moment, because there is no word...


I invite the attention. The touching. The chase.



But today has been a different day than all the rest.

I feel particularly un-wanting to be bothered.

So, as I sit and sip the last of my bourbon after leaving Harvey's apartment,

It especially bothers me that this man-

slack-jawed and whispering- claims to know my ecstasy face.