I have learned to vanish,
to disappear into the moments that colour each day,
without the crutch of a clock—
leaning on it,
or stopping my wandering eyes from darting
to the doorway,
or the window,
or any crack of light that promises escape.
I have learned to stand in a room,
to bear the weight of its silence
without feeling for the exit sign,
without the body alarm clock
ticking into another anxiety.
I do not justify each bite.
All I know is flavour and relish—
the sweetness of forbidden touch.
and the gasps they set free
Not holding back my moans,
or denying the cartographer his wage,
orgasmic or otherwise.
No weaving myself into stories,
no asking to be remade.
Instead, I open my mouth
and let the wind carry my name—
to corners I will never see.
And, to my surprise, I am still here.
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