What he believed about me was fully true
there was nothing secret
secret was a catapult
launching his impressions
forward
and over

Un-complicating my expression
in the hallway mirror
I pull my eyebrow lower
I want the white below
my pupil to show indicating
a type of innocence and shyness
this is how I want to look
at you when I see you

I go to the bed I’ve been sleeping in
I’m putting myself in it for the third time today
satin is not silk it cannot breathe
it draws out sweat
which lingers on the hairline
never leaving

earlier at yoga I nudged
my finger through a similar drop
pushed it to air
the wet grave of what it was
seeped into the plastic mat
becoming darker
as it fell I saw it glimmer clear

are you really a pure-bred horse?
I wanted to ask the horse I saw a month ago
it failed to move unnaturally enough as collection
in dressage requires the horse
to contort its body into slow
human-like gaits despite
its mother’s history
at best it could be a horse
for pleasure I was told
or for children to practice on