The Muses Contest the Sirens #1

The instructor has us choose, we 

decide I will give, you receive 

You close your eyes as I place my hands 

against your back 

kneading tightened tattooed muscles 

like clay, you map out the dark from 

my touch. I lift your shoulder to 

release, you refuse to 

give up your own weight. The instructor 

tells us to approach our partners 

with hands that do not want. Shit- 

but I want. These hands 

they want and want and want. We shift 

from the massage to our trust exercises. 

It is my turn to be lead in the 

dark, lids closed. 

We make circles around the studio, feet 

light gazelles against the marley. I 

think of the mermusical we watched 

on your couch. 

When one siren healed from the bodytaking by 

falling in love again, only to be turned to 

sea foam, the other, ate men with sharpened 

teeth, dragging bodies through the sand.