Flypaper

My back is firmly planted against the concrete wall
and I try to drop the left over ballet arch to my
lower back.
Will it always be there?
This gap you can slip your hand
between my back and the wall into.
Almost sensual when you think of it
More than almost when you brush your hand around it
claiming in that silent way of yours.
Not for others sake,
but for mine.
I am your secret
And I am yours.
You won’t let me forget it
And how you made me feel
and how you’re the only one to ever
Make me feel like that
(yet)
I imagine all the bone and fluid and vessels
And leftover whatever
flowing out my body from that lower back spot
and I can feel it relax against the cool wall slightly.
It will be back later tonight
but that is of course later.