you will think this is not about you

I know you wouldn't hurt me.
I mean, I would like to think that something
you don't even know about
or want to know about
wouldn't come over you
and make you squeeze me too hard
hold me down a little too long
follow me home
give me something you think I need
take me somewhere you think I want to go.

I think I am good judge of people.
Your eyes are so blue in that picture.
You say you are a doctor, a lawyer, a philanthropist, an ivy league grad.
You have kids, a wife, a dog.
But does the part of you that talks to me
live on some other island from the one they live on inside of you,
separated by a dark watery gulf?
Would you see their face while you pushed me a little too far
or for a little too long?

Sex lives in the same house as death.
I know I can't have one without the other, but
can you really call me a slut
while remembering that there are people who love me very much
and that I have a long, rich life behind me
and - if you will allow it - ahead of me?