I am not allowed
to split you open
climb inside you to
learn your secrets
I must maddeningly deduce
Negotiate with sensitivities
Navigate around trigger lines
My skin — camouflage
My hair — bush
My eyes — ink
My mouth — contort
I talk to myself out loud
so that my heart knows it’s me — not
some mad woman caught
in the wilderness of a lover’s secrets.
This Side of the Apple 