9.3 / March 2014


You aim more toward arousal
when it should be knowledge.

Remember in Genesis,
when the gods refer to sex
they use the word know.

Do you think you know me? Try and kiss me
like you don’t.

Rub the ridges of my neck like Braille,
so you can read the words
my mouth can’t speak.

Count the little bones in my fingers
like they are beads on an abacus,
calculating some long lost touch.

Touch the muscles in my abdomen
with whatever you might please:
my closed eyes are a kaleidoscope.

Andrew Squitiro is a native of Kansas City, MO. His poems have appeared in Bluestem, The Reed, and Epic. He operates a poetry reading series out of his dining room in Norfolk, VA, where he also attends graduate school.
9.3 / March 2014