i don’t know what to make of this. i’ve never learned to process your flighty rejections. you push & pull at me like i’m a mislabeled door that you can’t operate & so in my mind there is the possibility that you must covet some guilty hindrance, there are bars between us & i must look especially pretty while begging through the gaps. [insert fetishizing of captivity & denial.] “no” with you has been flexible, elliptic, interrogative, an invitation for contention. “no?” hard limits, “no?” delineation, “no?” rope burns leaving scars on my neck & thighs & arms. “no” means dished out as you like it. “no” means hypothetical positing. “no” translated into spanish is no; in french it is non existent. “no” translated into german is nein which should be harsh but i am a professional anagrammer at heart so really it translates to “nine” as in nine lives as in i have nine chances to hear you say ‘yes’, the word which will absolve & pacify us both in one go. the only certainty i have is that your “no/no?” doesn’t signify “absolutely not” although it would be kinder if it did. because you undressed in my presence & said come on in, the water’s fine! knowing that i wasn’t used to atlantic temperatures. you asked me to live here, you petitioned me into my prerogative because damnit, you love me, but your mouth keeps shaping this dumb word that i always have to rearrange with all my linguistic know-how because your arms say yes, your poems say yes, your friends say yes, your smiles say yes & i can’t fucking process this vacillating recantation, this jarring of gears, this no-but-don’t-go, this no-but-don’t-stay-put
