1 poem by A. Zachary

is it raining?                                                    

 

thank you for continuing 
to be attracted to me 
when my stomach isn’t flat 
as a facet on a diamond 
proving me wrong
when my hair is unwashed 
and my leg/chest stubble 
strains the illusion
still your hands 
grace these fields 
that will not be salted
and when I need to stop 
to cry into you
and my face gets gross
thank you for still 
being d.t.f. when I’ve 
cleaned up, calmed
and when your nails pass 
over scars on my back
thank you for not making 
it weird, remembering 
not to scratch, instead 
biting up my neck 
hard, bruising it 
bad, like the overripe 
thing I feel like
so that when I go away 
people will look and think
they belong somewhere
and when I come home
you’ll make the mark fresh
and I will think
yes