I am a woman in a Toulouse-Lautrec

painting. I am someone you do not know

but want to, a charming passenger

 

on a yellow boat calmly looking to sea.

I am kissing someone in bed, afraid to let go.

I am the woman at the table drinking up

 

all the absinthe. I am made to look good

in those big floppy hats. I am young

and shirtless, a woman of contour

 

adjusting my tights as if it were magic, as if

I have always just come back from soft colorful

nights of dance. When I remove my clothes,

 

I am glamourless, toes tangling

into fishnets, caught in the peripheral

moment after a passion.