One Day This Will Be Natural

I want to tell myself something real. Something authentic. But you are listening in while I’m pretending I’m all alone. How can I have any clarity on what is moving though me when I can’t help notice you there? I smell you. You push against me. Does that mean the truth is between us?

If I seek the truth must I ask your consent? Do I bend to seduce you into seeing eye to eye?

This is the part that I have been avoiding. Why the fuck am I writing this?

I live a lot in my head and so I think that I need to be grounded in the world.

I pick up a book and scrawl some words

like a squirrel

I bury it in the ground.

I can forget.

I can go on.

Here I give myself, resigned

At the mercy of others who may

steal every bit of symbol and meaning from my story and words

from my intention–that is just an inside joke in your gaze

An impenetrable haze tumbling between our worlds but neverless seductive

Pornography, we both know it

But if we agree,

If you can get off watching me jerk off

Will it all be sexy?

Will it all be real?

When this all becomes “natural,” will I know that I only exist in you?