Six Urban Love Songs VI. Help Me

I turned to you as if to say:  Push him out!

Touch me with your brave new hands; erase

him from my ribs, from my arms, from my face ...

Let your lips be rain falling on the drought

in my body—

                      Then I was reaching

(as if I could) and perhaps you were fooled

into thinking me ready to be pulled

away.  You wanted me, and I was beseeching

you—Then help me (for I could make no better

offer—it was a start—than a promise to try—)

push him out!—but he pushed back and I would cry

and you would kiss and as my eyes grew wetter,

you would know; and become angry and empty and cold.

What could I tell you—but what was already told—?