sometimes I lie sprawled on my
bedroom floor on my front and
look at my right arm real close up
but find it brick-wall impossible to
accept every blade of goosebump-hair
and spec of skin belongs to me .
sometimes I look at you through
the secret slices of my eyelids
my head bursting with the ache
of dead-cold acceptance that every
word you say and every laugh you
smile will never belong to me .
and silly me
sometimes I come to the conclusion
that the two are connected
and if I had you
I could learn to
have myself, too.