There is a shame in me,
residing on the western hemisphere
of my appendix. Both being 
unnecessary things,
bonded over this fact
-the only way to get rid
of it now 
is through surgical means- 
   (my body has no tolerance
            for intrusions of any kind)

You have a knack
for diplomacy.
Never taking
never pushing
never asking for more
than what I am
willing to give and you
accept it with the softest grace
-I glow for you
and hope it shows-
   (it never feels
               like enough)

My body and I 
are not the best 
communicators.
Making treaties only 
when it’s convenient;
Arguments never pretty, 
mostly petty, comprised of
cruel tricks and cheap shots:
“How broken are you 
to deny what should be natural
instinctual?” Please just 
sign the treaty
before my next confession
-the shame rears its head
expanding the territory-
    (bile rising up my stomach
                seeping into
                          my speech)

I’ve found enough data
in one nights stands
to take my asexual theory
to Law: “the one” does not live
here or in dreams, 
no savior of my sexual desires;
that concept is less 
a theory, closer to imaginary-
But you. You make
the bugs in my system
feel closer to butterflies
than problems in code.
Your weight never stifling, 
merely assuring me this
is real; no need to convince
myself that it could be
-But it’s not enough
to convince myself
this is okay-
   (I shut down
         we full-stop).

You tell me it’s okay
-It’s never okay-
You remind me
you will only take what I
am willing to give
(that is part 
        of the problem)
I hold you, trying to 
convince myself
this is okay
-this feels 
so close to okay, 
let it be okay-
caresses are enough for now
-I want to give you 
so much more though-
  (and, as always, I
          stop short of myself,
    and let the shame
consume me whole instead).