Sometimes
I just want you to be someone else
dressed in your skin
complete with your own history
looking with your eyes
but seeing things differently
Commanding your tongue
to utter different words
your neurons
setting ablaze different ideas
I wish I could gently unzip the bodybag
of your body
and give it to someone else
my Perfect Man
because he has no home
My mind is a claustrophobic cage
in which to dwell
and when he presses his wide, kind hands
palm-flat against the glass,
it is hard for me
not to want to help him
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