Do you think you own me
because you have seen the gooseflesh
prickling over my breasts
and thighs?
You do not.
They are my breasts.
They are my thighs.

Do you think that you own me
because I have told you
I love you,
the nakedness of the mind?
You do not.
It is my love
that I share with you,
generously.

Do you think that you own me
because you have been inside
my mysterious body,
because you are the first
to unbar the door?
You do not.
I unbarred the door,
I let you in.

Do you think that you own me
because we have shared a bed,
voices echoing through the air,
sweat lubricating our movements
together?
You do not.
It is my aching body
that walks out the door
alone in the morning.