you've

thirteen more rings

round your waist

round your hands

round your tongue

than i,

and me?

i can't help but

swelter, helter-skelter

midst and against each of those rings;

bearing my adolescence like a 

summer sheath

 begging to be

peeled, appealed 

quickly

off and away 

so that i can swim cool and proper

without restraint

of too little

or too many 

years and things and experiences,

she obstinately tells me.