In my dreams I love many men.
There, they love me back.
At first I am air, a tropical current,
shaping obstacles as I stream by,
cradling their resistance. We
fly into brightly plumed birds.
Together we are feather and bone in flight,
what we could never imagine ourselves. And then
I am driftwood emerging from a receding tide,
beautiful like beached bones,
ribs arched like an embrace,
my legs a scaffold over the dark, wet sea.