Confused, are you
the inkling shoestring type
who always gets away
You must remind me:
who am I to you if
you do not bite?

I’m not a little girl anymore
I’m looking for a confrontation–
me in my stacked up curls, eying
the sign that says keep out–
placing anyway the spoon inside
my mouth–

Once I find you just right, I
will remain addicted.
My mother warned me but
listening is never the same
as agreeing–

my entitlement repulses you,
you say, but I know:
you like me anyway

I like brown bears with
greedy mouths
I like the consequences
of dissolving into the innards
of a brand new house
that is already occupied.