Unshuttered ["1. You crush me with your damning glimpses..."]

1.

You crush me with your damning glimpses, Anna. You,

so rancorous, so wounding, and so cruelly bred

to stain a man with scarring he won’t see. Unsaid,

my reckless want of you—this yearning, thirsting, blue

inside these hands—is seed for malady, the mud

that clogs my throat, a pantomime of moan and knees.

Go home, you growl. I slip by agonized degrees

into the sound. You mouth my name, unlatching flood.

I beg you, Anna, search for mercy—heave my hurt

and humbled body close, let pity drive your slight

unwilling hips into the waiting, sweated blight

of mine. Let loose that rasping whisper—Shed your shirt—

and raze me slow, your mouth demolishing the rest

of who I am, until I gasp defeat against

the firelight in your neck. I just can’t see the sense

in your bedevilment—what keeps you so possessed

by whiter gazes, dreaming you’re the fool of those

who’d ravish without wonder? Come home to the skin

you know. Come staunch this mayhem with the medicine

inside your sacred hold, give me what you suppose

that white man craves. Oh Anna, drop me to my knees

and call the shaming love. By now, I must have riled

you past vexation into wanting. If not, I’ll

crouch here in blue, content to be your wreckage.

Please.