A box, all taped up and labeled with my name.
Inside, the sprawling embers
of ecstasy that once warmed me at all hours before
their reduction. Two boys
that I loved once, and a girl
who surprised me,
made me realize I could be with anyone.
Lately, I’ve been trying to spread these embers,
to let them fade away like the ashes
of deceased lovers, but I can’t open the box alone.
I invite more bodies to pry it open,
in increasingly strange situations.
No one can open it.
Not if they knew.
If they knew about that night
behind the red window in Amsterdam--
All just to touch a woman again.
To see if she mirrored Her, to live again.
And now it seems ridiculous when I describe
my sexuality as gray, despite all I’ve done
and all the people I’ve kissed.
My experiences are my own, so strange and personal,
but also so plain, so plain.