At the Bus Stop

Baby, you’ve not felt this way

In a while-

That vulnerability:

Offering yourself up on a platter-

I mean really offering…

You’d be crushed, annihilated

By those bow-shaped lips,

Those knife-sharp eyes,

Turning downwards at the corners,

To form a look of flattered sympathy,

By that…

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The very proposal, decent as it is,

Annihilates you,

Turns you inside out with fear

That maybe you really never were worth

Loving.

Fucking, maybe, though that’s just a crude

Imitation of the real thing-

Anyone would accept you naked, my friend,

But how many would accept you inside out,

Afraid,

Laid bare on a platter.