I do not wish to know
that you knew,
when you first saw me,
that I was the one you wanted
to spend the rest of your life with. Instant lovelust disintegrates
in the light
of every storm’s aftersun.
I do not wish to know
that my svelte form entrances you
or my fat figure promises
secrets and delights
to keep you occupied
for more years than you can dream of. Breasts sag hips spread
backs bend fat turns rancid
in tune with time’s march.
I do not wish to know
that my face rivets you
eyes wide close large small
snub big thin long nose
narrow generous lips
framed by buttock long locks
or a shorn shiny scalp. Faces spring from bottles and scalpels
and the smallest kiosk
stocks varieties of hair.
But I do need to know
that my sorrow and my laughter move you,
that my needs and independence don’t drown you,
that my mind attracts and repels you,
and that the state of my finances
is irrelevant to you.
