I don’t think I was always this way.
I didn’t analyze the way my jeans
fit around my hips, or whether
my shirt was form fitting in just
the right way to make it slimming.
I don’t remember ever once
wondering if pulling my hair up
made my face seem fuller.
Only whether or not
you were going to kiss me
on the mouth on the front porch
or if you were going to
wait until we were in the car,
away from prying eyes.
Now I wonder, do you mean it?
Do you crave the press of my lips
the way you used to, like you were
starving for it, like you’d tried
everything to fill up the ravenous
pit in your chest that hungered
for my skin like iron and salt?