My boyfriend peeled
the cotton skin over
his head lifting upwards
as though he were sliding
downwards into some bronze
hole, his body a rich thick
aromatic Sunday AM coffee.
He was cold he said
as the cotton slid
down like blinds. Dale
has AIDS he said
as he tied my arms
round his chest. I didn’t
like him much he said.
But my arms only tightened
like a Chinese finger trap.
I’m going to lose him.
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 