Room 102

“I’m bored of talking about myself” I lie,
my nakedness in flesh only. It is all I need
for now. The night distends and the spilt
moonlight ushers the huddled through sand-dusted
streets. I have not yet decided if I care
where they are headed, or why.
“I want to hear about you.” This may or may not be
another lie.

He runs a finger round my belly button. It feels nice.
I am not ashamed of my nakedness; I have grown into this
imperfect skin and learned, if not to love it exactly,
to accept it. He seems happy enough.
He keeps telling me I’m beautiful. Over and over,
as though the words have staged a coup in his mouth
and will not leave. It’s okay,
I like hearing it.

Names of flowers, the president of Romania, God:
these are some things I do not know.
Him. I know some of him. I know his flesh against mine,
How he feels between my thighs. The rest?
I think it is unnecessary.

“Tell me about…” he begins. I press a finger to his lips
and smirk.
“Come now.” I say, “Come. Now.”
This is all I need
for now.