there is a sin in touching another girl's skin. a sick, strange wrong
in silk touch, in cheek pressed to cheek
chest to chest & hip to hip, a backbreaking agony
in the genuflect of a woman's body to one other than
the magpies, the hideaways & the changelings.
a stillness in the room. you still love me?
a woman singing like a bird, a bird opening
blood-red and yawning,
feathers everywhere.