He names the muscles in your back
While he presses down on them
This is this one
This is that one
One by one
Knots
Rock away
The cat in the corner
Doesn’t seem interested
In the naked boy
Who just got laid
And followed it up
With a lame grin
And a request
Shoulders shrug
Flip on your stomach
See if you can catch the view
From the window that faces
The skyline
And the cathedral
The boy with the lean frame
And the long arms
And the strong hands
Hops on your back
And counts down
The vertebrae
In your spine
This is this bone
This is that one
He touches a spot
And it’s warm
Then cold
The parts that are tense
Go loose
And other parts of you
Erase
Before you even knew
They were there
This is the kind of apartment
That should have a fireplace
But doesn’t
This is the kind of man
Who shouldn’t have a care in the world
But holds the world on his back
While he sits on yours
And makes your problems
Rock away
There’s another cat you never see
And a shelf full of books
That look like
They’ve been read
Too many times
Everything about him
Is the difference between you
And the man
You’d like to be
His furniture looks vintage
And museum-ready
His hair falls in his face
But you can always
See his eyes
His voice could put you to sleep
If you weren’t so interested
In what he was going
To say next
What parts of you
He was going to name
He tells you about his sobriety
Like it’s a nickname
He had in school
You think about staying over
But you have work in the morning
And a fear of waking up
Not knowing where you are
Back home
There’s a washing machine
Next to your bed
And no cats
To lovingly judge you
Back home your bed
Is a bunch of blankets balled up
And a flattened pillow
And nobody who loves you enough
To get your knots out
This guy isn’t perfect
But he’s the first person
To solve something for you
Instead of giving you two new problems
To take care of
By lunchtime
It’s half past three
And you’re acting like
It’s four in the afternoon
You don’t feel tired
You don’t feel scared
You don’t feel the relief that comes
From having a beautiful person
Dig their hands into you
Like they’re trying
To sculpt you
Into somebody new
All you feel is that wanting
That wanting
To be changed
To be set
And fired
Into
Somebody else
And the dig--
Dig
Dig
That never
Turns up
Anything
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