The first thing I feel is the hair on my stomach

dancing under my moving fingertips

leading downward to the raised mound

of my crotch. Half-sleeping half-waking

I could be dreaming. I could pretend

this vegetable tube

the dimpled sack of balls

are foreign to the land between my thighs.

I could wish for the concave

the deep inner wetness

the feminine pheromone

the portal to the land of She.

 

My eyes flutter open against

my better judgment

the light of day

an unforgiving reflection

in the mirror on the back of my door.

My eyes, my male eyes

                 the better to see you with, my dear

These eyes that remind me of what I only feel

in that first        groping blindness

of this prison body’s sunrise.

 

Dakota R. Garilli is a Pittsburgh transplant and New Jersey native. A trans*-identifying poet and essayist who likes to slap gender, God, and pop culture around, Dakota is currently pursuing an MFA at Chatham University in Pittsburgh where he’s a teaching assistant. He also serves as the Nonfiction Editor at IDK Magazine. Dakota’s poems have also appeared in Weave. You can find Dakota online at www.idkmagazine.com or on Twitter @dakoter818.