Not A Fan Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

Body of a man, tan chest, rough hands.
When you reach for me, you stretch beyond
Your self-imposed imprisonment into
The tunnel of my love, the light always seen
But never felt as my endless promise
Remains just beyond your willingness to give
Something of yourself in tribute to my white thighs
That rise like hills in the distance, smooth and bare,
Heightening your awareness of your own impotence,
A weapon gone dead in the face of an enemy
You dare not name here on this page
Exposed for what you are, a flaccid piece of meat
Pecked at by carrion eaters in the desert of your lust.