Oh how I wish it wasn't you
so eager to please--
what nerve
to bring me to Assateague.
The red horses were
the only way you knew
you'd ever break me -
weeping in a parking lot
as one walks past,
but oh I wouldn't
let you see.
I wept for the galloping six
'cross the umbrellaed beach;
I wept for the spikes in my shoes
while you
pink, stinking, and grinning
hoped
"Maybe now she'll love me!"
Oh how I wished for a neck
for which to drape my arms
a collapsible embrace,
a kiss for a mane framed
face.
That night I asked you thrice
to quit foolin' 'tween sheets.
Your fragility uncloaked,
you channeled your spite,
my body, soon frigid, timid and mauled,
I regret being so polite.
And that's the memory of
the first time I'd see
something sentient so free:
it's your wet breath on my neck
it's sun poisoning where your fingers swept.
I hardly remember the horses.
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