Poem: "Taylor Speaks about his Burn"

Coming out of the bathroom,
his towel sloughs off as he speaks to me,
the golden arch of his tummy,

and I see his tiny white spud
flaccid as a tired out balloon;

There is a long red burn down his side and
tracing my finger along it,
I ask him who did this to you?;
Taylor’s face spreads open as a map;

He is oblivious to his sex,
to touch,
like eve coming out of the forest,
the grip of a jaw against the backboard,
a cigarette stuck to burn

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