I wish I had been born like George Sand
with all the courage of trousers
to grasp you, a Chopin with your sweet fingers.
But I am a girl beneath my petticoats;
I long to tangle my white-gloved fingers
In the folds of your cravat,
Like oceans meeting,
But I grasp instead the swan neck of my
Lace parasol, like an anchor.
Love, break open my steel rib cage
And make of me a poet,
Make my snarled letters into kisses
And their thorned brambles bloom roses.