a love poem 

i want to be 
catfished.

make a person 
for me.
i want 
to bask in the sensation 
of love 
without touch.

give me 
several stock photos

standing on a porch:
dark brown hair, olive skin,
soft malleable features,

a clay body for me
to dig 
my finger nails into.

i want him to 
be a postman, calling me
on his delivery route.
prone to paper cuts,
he wears six band-aides 
on his left hand,
i know this because

i believe him through
the phone call;
his voice so strong
that his body materializes,
for a moment,
in the middle of the room. 

hologram romance.

i'll count the miles between us:
233
writing the number
on every wall in my house.

i want to be catfished
& i want to know 
it's happening, to be
in control of my own

uncontrollable 
& destructive 
& inevitable
desires,   

stripping down to just my skin
& walking in every direction
those 233 miles
until i come to a stream.

"this is his house"
i'll tell myself

thrusting my full
arm under the water
for a real catfish to bite.

forgetting his name, 
i'll give him a new one, 
calling aloud 
six times:
John    George
Paul    Isaac
Matthew Robert 
all of them are now 
his names,

i lug the scales-&-water-catfish 
to a nearby rock, 
pry the creature's
mouth from my arm 
& let it go: 

thrash 
in the creek.

i want to be 
catfished.