Okay. For those of you who have wondered what my writing--my real writing--is like--just this once I shall post something. Why am I doing this? Well, because this poem is being published in a student literary magazine, so it feels a little safer to post this (as opposed to something that is unpublished and could easily be lifted by a random surfer and passed off as his or her own) since I know I have that extra proof that I wrote it. I am not a poet by nature. When I sit to write, I gravitate towards prose. Nevertheless, I do find myself producing the odd poem. Please keep in mind that, compared to my prose, my poetry is rusty at best.

Anyway, enough with this blathering on for my part. Here it is:

Robbed

I am my own
Eve eating apples or
succumbing to your
serpentine Siren’s song;
I desire to know you,
unknowable
unavailable, you.

And in tasting
I Marsyas am lain open:
a stark contrast to you,
your nakedness
cellophane shrink-wrapped–
distant.
My fingers as a child’s–
they will not penetrate you.

I am robbed by your absence.