Pillow Talk

I'm an odalisque in pieces.
_____ should happen every single time,

but doesn't. Instead it stammers
like a bike light.

You promise postcards
from the Atlantic Mirror,

then leave scarabs under
your thumbprint.

My gypsy window:
your fissure.

Listen, I got here
the same way you did,

taking heart in a stranger
who plucked music from my pudendum.

So make something true
before you go. Or don't.

I'll find it sooner or later.
My kind always does.

—Carmen Gimenez-Rosello