I blush to think
how I did examine
that photo of you

naked. In the privacy
of my apartment. Alone.

Always alone there,
here, for now for however
long. Long enough

to defrost the freezer
on a schedule. My therapist
says go

online, experiment, be
a tease, say no. I
say no

to that. I think
I should—no, I fear
I should have no

one to tease. Could I
tease you for a night?
Could I be the smile

in Minnesota
for you? Is that meeting
in Theatre 80 on Saint Marks Place

where the original
punks who did not die go to not die?
I’ll never say. I’m one too.