We were warned growing up not to fall in love with people
who have spent their whole lives acting out one-night stands.
But at the same time, that’s precisely why I want you,
because I can feel all the other bodies you experienced
pass through me. I want you to tell me about Karen,
who stole your blue sweater when she was six and you
were seven, because she wanted something with your smell
still lingering in it like the fresh meat of a whale carcass.
Tell me about every kiss you’ve ever had.
Did they use tongue, teeth, did they give you hickeys?
Point them out to me where they sink into the flesh of your neck
like the ribs of a museum’s dinosaur skeleton.
Tell me about Aleesa and her cold feet in bed,
her tendencies to run as far as she could into the Atlantic Ocean
until the waves knitted themselves over her head
and you had to resuscitate her back to life.
I want to know about the first boy you fucked “because
you were drunk,” even though you were sober as a kite.
Tell me, what did it feel like to touch all the parts of him
that were so familiar to your own body?
Explain to me in detail all the women you kissed
under falling snow and rain and streetlamps,
the heaviness that came after a new lover
invaded your heart and mind.
We were warned growing up not to fall in love with people
who have spent their whole lives acting out one-night stands.
But when I fell in love with you, I also fell in love
with all the people you loved
who came before me.