Why didn’t you warn me
of the arm’s smoothness in its dormitory,
where it enters the roundness of the shoulder,
my eyes locked open.
What made you think I’d forget
the lure of the long gaze when you look back at me
with that shadow under your arm
when the sun is low…
Why didn’t you believe it exists,
the breathing in the lung under the arm,
you alone with the vacant pain in one eye,
the triangle of dark under you?