Early August 1987

                                                                                             
I look at you and

have no expectations,

only desires that

will never come to be.

August 1987

I am sexually abandoned,
left to my own desires; and,
the blisters on my hands never
heal only wrinkle with age.

August 1987

I am not who I am or what you see;

I am a complex mixture of disorders

waiting to explode in your hands.

August 1987