Last night when you clamped your hand
over my sex
            I thought for a moment there was blood
on your hand. 
            I had seen hands performing bloody acts
on cable that day
            that looked not unlike yours,
and thought you meant your hand to silence me.

             When you arrested my skin inch by inch
with your mouth
             I feared for a moment you’d taste sweat
on my skin.
             I had read accusations of inaction
in the papers that day
             that all but spelled out my name,
and thought myself a crime against humanity.

             If we faced each other then, and pulled
each other to each other
            was there too much between our skins
for us to have come?
            That day we had watched bodies degraded
in mixed media, glorious
             technicolor, all tongues
and none, and now I do not know if I am free.