my body
with me
battered luggage
like old Montréal Gazettes
discarded
without soiling my fingers
I never touched my body
and yet I say
I love you
(When it itches
I scratch
not from having crabs
but because it is dirty,
and I wash it
run my hands
over my chest
and lather my skin
My foriegn country
Oh sweet heaven
to lie naked
with my legs spread open
open to the sky
and let the sun rays
(like my fingers)
lap and caress my skin
I think
Today
I will have a
love affair
with my body
--Gregg Rowe
October 11th, 2000
