You're the man who turned me
into a woman who eats crackers
in bed, holds scissors and runs,
and scoops a bowl of ice cream
for dinner. I'm now a woman
who gets her itch scratched,
runs into traffic, and grabs
hot stoves. And I find I long
for blood and bone heat instead
of the safe parch you've quenched.
You're the man a mother warns
daughters about, but I suspect
that's because she thirsted
for a man like you herself.

April 2007