“I Call the Thing That Was Before Us Lucy Because It Bore Her Shape”

“I CALL THE THING THAT WAS BEFORE US 
LUCY BECAUSE IT BORE HER SHAPE…” 

—Dr. Seward, Dracula

When to let him know is the question, when to admit
before his hand to your dress this is who,
even as you pray what’s between you
and disaster is more than tape
and padded cups. But you live
on dolled-up possibility and the very fear
you’ve fallen for him, staccato throb, one strap
already off by the deserted swan pond
where after the movie a walk in the park
feels too idyllic as in movies
just before the monster appears. It’s your secret
but his whisper in your hair, love
a magic bullet, or if not, the real story
from the breathy O of your mouth
making sure you don’t get fucked
in the heart at the end because groping
he’ll grasp the rest. You want to believe
he won’t transform you into a statistic,
since how could you go on without
dismissing them like rumors, the sensationalized
kiss just a kiss but also a hunger
while you stand transfixed, every second
his maybe moment of truth.