Issue 102, Spring 1987
Sweat lingering in broadcloth over soap,
the first man’s smell I smelled belonged to you.
Couldn’t look at myself. I trust you saw my taupe
skin on the clammy bedsheets clearer than I did.
The offseason blue snowlight in that broken
down summer motel all college kids froze in
I saw clearer than my own skin. To look in
the mirror you were was the best I could do, woozy
with fear to see what I was. your chest—I looked there—
your mole-y back and neck, scaley kneecaps,
nervous groin. As worried about my hair
as what I’d do in bed, I stuck a showercap
on my head the first time we made love
ever in our lives.