This is still a monstrous work in progress that needs to be longer and better, but I think I have a better idea of where I want to go with it now. Special thanks to Meghan for a marathon critique session and general advice.

The Desktop Chair

Looking at the skin stretched
across her waist, her hands
play at me and at once
I am desperate
for your fingers over my skin
for the pulling of your body tight against me
before, during, after, all day
the odd touches that bend me
like a plant, growing
toward the sun.
I am a predator;
of hands and feet and the contour of faces,
of thin and thick hair
and the sweat that drips off us
when we've finished.
I am a collector of body parts.
I claim them with my lips and fingers.
I am desperate
for the hips that portrude
just enough
to grab and use,
a tool to push and pull the rest,
desperate for them
but not for you.

The Desktop Chair

Looking at the skin stretched
across her waist, her hands
play at me and at once
I am desperate
for your fingers over my skin
for the pulling of your body tight against me
before, during, after, all day
the odd touches that bend me
like a plant, growing
toward the sun, a predator
of hands and feet and the contour of faces,
of thin and thick hair
and the sweat that drips off us
when we've finished.
I am a collector of body parts.
I claim them with my lips and fingers, desperate
for the hips that portrude
just enough
to grab and use,
a tool to push and pull the rest,
desperate for them
but not for you.

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