I'll Choose the Wood

there is a single
hole atop the lip
of my head, I slip
through it like a high
wire act, all consciousness,
it spools all the way
through the center.
It is how I breathe,
it is how I love, taking
all things in instead of
just wearing those
silly affectionate
hearts against my skin
or on shirt sleeves.
I am not that kind
of girl. I'm not easy
to, well any of the above
you may want to ask
me, the answer is still
no, unless you ask
using just the right
words. What I am feeling
is unique to you. It does
not wander, I have never
sought, in all my cervidae
beds, to roam or to be caught
by just anyone, like the
sister waiting for her ungulate
brother to rap the door
and fall into the hearth
place, shedding antlers,
a man again. When we walk
through the places where
grass has grown and been
trampled, then you will know
where I have been sleeping.