male gaze

living memory

he remembers

when my hair was long

a decades-old flirtation

not personal

if it ever was

with him

I remember

that pale, waxy skin

like marble

the feel

of boy-men muscles

along limbs

as I struggle

to catch slurred words

in a noisy pub

even though I’m sober now

he’s invading my space

after 25 years

of long-forgotten…

suddenly

confronted with

being seen

in a way I haven’t been

for ages

is it good or ill

to bathe

in that male gaze

again

I am, am I?

a person now

or then

how to define

myself

hard-up against that

strange

living-memory thing