Jane Morton
a swarm caught
in the men's room
one night
at the city pool
legs like loose hair stuck
to tile walls
a blur of wings
in the shower
in the morning
my breath still ripe
with him, hay-
fragrant
I felt
my body folded
tender as a rose
around my hips
the lightest bruises
smaller than I imagined
and more painful
than his hands
I almost
couldn't believe
I earned
all the love I got—
each drop of spit
on my tongue
it's not a lie
but it becomes a lie
in the telling