We all dream of exposure. We all wait like ribbons
wrapped around a bomb. Breton said something close to that.
At night we are always itching for the night below.
We are always knifing through. If I liked you,
it was not because of your hair. Each strip a veil
or a bootstrap. More bare now than ever
when I’ve been without clothes: the girl below.
In any suit, we all are pretty beasts. We all are animals.
We all are rising. We all are going off.