my insides are hollow,
a slender secret that seeks and seeks
and only finds when it finds you.
like some cheap candy,
sticking to the roof of your mouth
but all pleasure on the tongue:
but easy, easy to find.
and when i'm shaking,
when my palms are opening and closing
crying their own cries against your broad back,
will it be enough then
to be exactly what i am and not
one single thing more?
it is the eternal fear of woman, see:
all the secrets of the world cannot conceal
the fact that i am who i am,
straight down to my belly
especially when you're looking at me like that.
so sure, come on and seek,
with your eyes, the heat of your blood and
great rough palms, come seek.
i will be easy enough to find.