bare skin above kneehighs
grazing the cold metal bones of my desk,
i am locked into this dunce cap cage, where
rubbing hands up and down goosebumps
can never create enough friction,
to combat this ice box of a room,
which serves to keep anchored eyes
from sinking into sleep.


he is caged in his skeleton,
a matter of six inches of electric energy,
between my plaid skirt and his pleated pants,
wide-eyed day dreams end abruptly when i feel
a touch from an idle hand with a not-so-hidden desire,
to carry out his solitary vice.

and i, in my young body,
accept hands under my uniform while i,
drag a finger along text and keep my eyes glued
to crucifixes and cups of blood and brothers of God,
and how to ignore the pleasures of the flesh.