one day I will tell my daughter to touch herself
before she ever lets a man do it for her, to learn
her body-secrets and the shape of pleasure. I will
tell her that San Francisco always keeps your heart.
that her skin is a blank canvas, that hair grows,
the value of the right kind of disrespect. that the older
we get, the more we need the people who knew us
when we were young. I will tell my daughter
to give away the secrets that keep her up at night,
and that there is never a wrong time to love someone,
but sometimes a wrong way. I will teach my daughter
to travel without makeup; that sometimes forever means
morning and sometime
he won't be
your whipping boy
any longer.
he won't let you
wipe your bad dreams
on his sleeves,
or watch the lies
falling out of your mouth
like bees escaping honey.
he won't hold your hand
in the dark,
or spin angels out of your words
and swear
they are gospel.
he won't wait on your thoughts
or own your trouble,
or let your tongue
pick his bones
to the quick.
he only wants
to taste your memory,
grinding your name
through his teeth
as if
spitting out
the bad pieces...