ON OVERCOMING GAMOPHOBIA

​Since your silence scares me, be roadkill,
be oil spill, be the elevator that stalled
 
on its way down. Let me learn to love
the quiet; let’s learn to speak without noise.
 
And since I despise tight spaces, locked
doors, uncertainty: lock us in a room in the dark,
 
or in a storm shelter—love, take me
subterranean and then take me, let me
 
take you. You know odd numbers make me
nervous, so how about I ghost the five fingers
 
of my left hand over all seven bones of your neck?
If I’m bonnet, be breeze and blow me
 
away. But take me with you. If I’m shut-eyed,
be shuddering breath, be the sound you make
 
when I touch your chest. If I’m oak, be Spanish
moss so we can grow together, so I can grow
 
rings to give you, so you can wrap yourself
around me. If I’m weed, be gardener
 
and uproot me. If I’m week, be -end
so we can spend Sunday morning in bed,
 
so we can bake bread. If I’m night,
be nightlight so I can find you in the dark.
 
If I’m crocus, be rainfall, be honeybee
and, honey, come be with me.