On Lego

We were talking about pain, how much of it I could take

before I snapped into smithereens in your hands. Pieces

and parcels, I was in crumbles and I delighted being

caressed this way and that. Lego in your hands,

desert and island mixing right there in your

broad palms. I wanted to become a part of your

machinery, to be a red wire, a yellow wire,

maybe even green, light-bulbs off and glaring.

I wanted to be your mouth, the saliva on your tongue,

the part you’re supposed to spit out, but instead, I

look you straight in the eyes and I say, “Happy. Thank you.

More. Please.”