i can dance you around
like a ratty rag doll.
let your skin gather along
the wooden dance floor,
and watch your platelets
struggle to coagulate.
and you’d prefer it.
you obsess over someone who
will yearn for you.
then you sit limp and
unarousable.
you require a chase with a touch
of impossible to get
in bed
in touch with
in love with;
because everything has to be
proven beyond a reasonable doubt.
so i could grab you,
drag you around like some
aged relic from childhood
of which i have no hope in keeping
intact.
but i’d prefer shoving half of myself
in the doorway
before you shut it completely.
and maybe you’ll understand
that a little trauma
is a small price to pay
for your interest.