Rebecca, I’m told, is written on my body.
You speak the words, matter of factly, receding.
The flicker in the corner of the room makes me think of you
But I’m not yet sure what that means.
Unspoken is better, no?

Rebecca, I’m told, brands me.
Fellini speaks from the beat of the port.
I wanted to talk of your body, moving,
Speaking to me as you walk away.
Rebecca lifts a hand, warns me of my excess.

Rebecca, I’m told, has
Buried me behind walls that even
Prince Charming could not climb — no pornographic
Princess waiting to be mounted, no enchanting
Tale to wrap my lips about. I will walk,
To quote my muse,
For “as long as forever is.”