That man and I
were standing on the street
with a group of fellow artists
watching a performance.
I stood just in front of him.
He put his hands on my shoulders,
slid them down my arms,
stroked my hands.
I leaned back against him.
He leaned against me.
We didn’t say anything.
He was lightly clothed.
I was naked.
Many of our fellow artists were naked.
He stroked my belly
and began to stroke my breasts.
I leaned into his lust.
There was no choice,
no question,
and no question of choice or question.
The dream became an image
of our genitals,
not joined in the usual way, not fucking,
but making a new shape,
my labia and his penis
combined into one.
It was a new thing.
It was both ugly and beautiful.
We were standing on the street
with a group of fellow artists.
From lemon oil
Jackson 