LYN LIFSHIN
I COULD BE THE WOMAN

who wrote the book about
sleeping with rock stars.
my skin polishing theier skin
until they glowed like
silver in the moon
or the white stars of a June night.
The air smells of come or
maybe it's the sap dripping
from the chestnuts.

I was pure

I always felt pale
unused as a cake of Ivory
in a motel with a band
across where you'd pee.
It was as if no one else
had touched where I was wrapped
Crowds knocked on the door
yelled and shrieked.
Glued to him, a queen,
I floated on top
of what could have been
shark filled water.