The Small of My Back

The Small of My Back

                                                          is not a pocket for your penis
                                           as I dance to the rhythm of a song.

 didn’t want to feel the calculated thrust
of you, hardness slipping on soft skin.

  will remember the smell of sweat
heavy in the humid air as you lunged.

      recoiled from you, springing away
to the steps of a hip-hop beat.

       thought it was safe in the open
       under the bar’s bright lights.

regrets feeling sorry for you, giving
your quietness the benefit of the doubt.

                  regrets not confronting you
the moment it happened.

          wonders why I didn’t tell the police
long after you’d disappeared.

            wonders if this is how flashing victims feel
their sight assaulted like my space.

wonders if their eyes feel as violated
as I do from its poisonous touch.

the small of my back an unknown land,   invaded in an instant
stamped with the imprint of your     probing, penetrating tip.

                                                           suppresses the sensation of you,
now wary of every man

                                           it does not know.

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