I came to bed wearing nothing but a belt of bells like a flock of sheep.

I came to bed wearing nothing but a mink coat.

I came to bed wearing a granny gown and long underwear.

I came to bed the moment one called, because he had to get up early and go to work,

And if I didn’t, he said I wasn’t going to get any.

And his love is the sweetest memory.

We made love on a train in Genoa in a restroom that smelled of pee.

I hated/adored/was terrified of him because:

I was poor, and worse, ashamed of being poor.

I knew he would eventually leave me.

I wanted him to destroy me.

I thought pain was necessary.

I wanted to be him.

(All of the above.)

One was a pre-med student, and after making love would:

Ask me to cough.

Tap on my back.

Thump me like a drum.

Read my body as if I was a well-tuned machine.

I had a crush on one until he appeared at my door

One night with a mustache exactly like my brother’s.

I met one in Tenejapa when he rose

From the Mayan jungle like a plumed serpent.

I met one across a boardroom table where he licked my nipples with his eyes.

I met one at a bar where a gay friend and I both wanted him, but

I was the only one brave enough to ask,

Are you gay or are you straight?

Silence. Why?

Because I don’t have a lot of time.

One shook like a little tree when I left him.

There were no tears from me.

I shook like a little tree when one left me.

There were no tears from him.

Subsequently I learned this emotional equation:

The first one to cry robs the other of the need to.

One was a sham shaman, and when we first made love he

Smudged me with copal and let me place my tongue on his scars.

One became famous, and they make movies about his books.

One is a loser. He teaches at a university where they don’t care he’s a hustler.

One got married to Hello Kitty, though I suspect he’s in the closet.

One was Opus Dei. He dumped me for a Catholic he knocked up.

One wanted to knock me up just so he could say he knocked me up.

One was an anarchist, and I can’t forget the sex.

I don’t remember the sex. I remember him, and that was sexy enough.

One was bi, and now he’s gay.

One was straight, and now he’s celibate.

One had teeth like a rat, and now he can afford to have them fixed.

One was in love with a man, and when they kissed each other once

In front of me, slowly, deliberately, a cigarette burning flesh,

I was neither jealous nor sad but