Look, I really didn’t
need to be rescued.
I was on top of things,
faking the guy out.
I mean, who asked you
to fly out of nowhere,
a relic of the ’fifties,
Brylcreme and deference,
to sweep me of the rooftop
like a goddamn rag doll?
(The strength in your arms amazed me).
I can take care of myself,
always have,
no guy ever scoops me,
gets under my skin,
except now, when I can
still feel how I curved
into you, cheek against the
steady pulse in your neck.
My finger traces your big
S on my pillow,
imagines how your chest would
warm under my hand.
Now I’m in a new kind of trouble:
I’ve left my window open,
wait for you to come,
show me why they call you
man of steel.
