I MISS YOUR STRETCH MARKS



i did not see your zebra crossings
the first time you let me touch
the onion bulb you call buttocks
it was dark, and only my hands
roamed into your loose wrapper

i did not notice your stripes
the first time you unclenched to let me into
the pathway that has no footprints
it was too hot, and my man was too busy
mapping the moistness in-between

at last i noticed your meandering marks
the day you slept facing away with
the mountain bared (so I could gloat)
it was not only the clamped clam
my eyes saw…there were lines too!

i did not see zebra crossings on
the many onion bulbs my hands have
peeled after the morning after that night..
they have no lines, no stripes, no marks
but they are too dry, too cold…

now, I miss your stretch marks!

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