when i’m brave i shall wear desire
on my sleeve. little notes all over
my clothes, or perhaps
instead of them
declaring whose arms i want
which knuckle would fit best
against the cave of my collarbone,
whose navel i wish to fill with secrets,
whose lashes, whose elbows,
what nape and what brows.
when we are all naked, we’ll flaunt
our garments of honest desire
and constitute our lovers
in so many parts of so many people
enmeshed and woven,
letting ourselves take, and be taken.