What Women Want

I want a red dress.
I want a small waist and big,
exotic eyes, the kind that get noticed.
I want men to swoon
when I speak because of what I say.
I want you to stop and wait for me
when I fall behind, distracted by the scent of lilacs
or the pile of dogsh*t that resembles someone
we both know.

I want to wear flannel shirts. I want
to shed this skin
and wade in the water. I want
to touch all your right places,
my hands made of peacock feathers, lithe and vibrant. I want
to flood you with the red
of my dress, comfort you with the soft cotton
of my flannel shirt. I want
to erode away all the girls you loved before
me, the pretty ones you can't forget.

I want lakes of fire
in my thighs, so I can sear my name on you,
make you wear my name
the same way I wear yours.