[removed for further study]

do you know what i want? of course
you don't know. thinking like any lover,
sneaking admiration into the conversation,
making me guess. do you know what i want?

september 17, last year, carl took me to
the beach. "how do you like being an
object of study?" he asked. little sand-crab
scrutinizing eyes; i brushed my fingers through
his deer-brown eyes. "i love it," i told him, "as
long as i know it's happening." so all day
i dug in the sand, waded and glared through
jewel-green eyes, tossed our desires into the
boisterous sea-breeze (he sat up, annoyed; "hey,
i needed those!"), lay on the brown-sugar sand
keeping one eye on him as he kept both on me.
'round about 3 pm he suddenly jumped up,
pulled me by one arm off the beach into the
car and drove me to the hotel. later, i stole his
briefcase and read the report: [subject removed
for further study]. when i next saw him, i let him
see my tattoo: [retrospective feature studies] because
nonsense parodies scare him and my hair gets in
my eyes, displeasing him. i told him, "you miss me
mirroring your expectations." he wrote a bitter novel.

do you know what i want? of course
you don't.