The subway snakes on a corner,
and my back slams against the doors like
the way I asked you to slam it against the wall
They are beside me and look over
and I wonder if they know that this slamming turns me on
If my skin moved
My hands make a point, and I look down at what I’m cutting
on a wooden board
and not up into your two planets
because this gesture is the way I can make sense of what I want from you
In a difficult conversation
And I don’t have a chance to be good myself
I can only separate into little moments and futures because
you say to me: delicate
Everyone is, flower
and you didn’t need to be fully formed
Did you know that?
I can love the dead,
or parts like petals can be spread and sniffed
and this is ok that you won’t help my body
make this meal
you only sometimes float over
and light up for me like the way you did
when you asked me to squeeze you
but now I need you to slam me against the wall.
You'll never know how tender.
-Andrea Grassi
