Some have names for you,
call you mister, call you Richard;
call you all I have in this world.
I call you member, limb, extremity.
             & I have attempted to tuck you under,
to show you off, still, you find way
around my neck, around my throat.

I was taught to fear your devouring nature,
paint you lagoon creature on roadside billboard, 
call you mythic, ancient, ruined.

You speak for me—
suffocating other tongues,
warm exaggerations of pleasure,
           & I have learned to shift you with stone fist,
to release you of your own trembling.

To conceal you is charade of modesty,
your tug on my waistband; loaded, brutal & lead.
My gut quivers with anxiety, graces your trigger
in mediation, though you only understand monument.

             & you, black anchor, subtle organ, stifling bullet,
grotesque invention: I want to call you love, but
only know you as confessional,
             or exchange for the possibility.