chromatographics

food

a girl’s gotta eat, grow big & strong food becomes fuel fired brick oven

i have reservations, my seat’s set aside gin martini stirred— small coin of lemon.

white pressed linens red leather cushions polished steel fixtures scarred marble veins

amuse my palate gift from the chef we kindly request: no sharing allowed

a girl’s gotta eat, wash away fears enjoy my choices wet lips, appetite

taste first with eyes each flavor distinct: salt, grit, acid, burn hungering for it all

the first bite builds anticipation of more— a mindless chewing, my posture softens

i lick your plate clean it’s been taken care of have i saved any room? no, some other time

use

craving total transformation, identity a disposed wrapper. becoming a vessel for want, glass poured into, overfilled.

you haven’t been here lately. something in our combining always begins this reaction: photochemical excited state

learning how to spark again — days ago: gel, pumps, bulbs, rattling pill bottles and nerves, black gloves, gold foil, silicone.

it’s warmed up enough already. don’t ask or guess — just know. take a part you claim as yours, shape it to your pleasure. use.

time stutters; the gears grind forward under prying pressure. repairing hidden mechanisms, counting every beat yourself.

disappearing deconstruction: ripped apart by heat and light, shredded into a thousand tiny pieces of steel. shrapnel blast.

there is stillness in oblivion, peace made in the darkness. clenched fists, soaked linen. i swear. i won’t move. i can’t.

AS 21

if you’re hearing this, it’s ’cause i trust you. there’s a lot of detail, high resolution scans.

i take an early flight. nothing good is easy. what am i forgetting? chocolate orange peels.

i program on the airplane to distract from humming in my eardrums; an engine whirring to life in my chest.

she applies the night before risks her body just for more. she knows she has to see it before i remember my face.

jetway’s made of glass, eyes have steel blades. what am i forgetting? 54-inch red shoelace.

“do you want to get the fuck out of this airport?” she picks up both bags before i can say a word.

she borrows a tapedeck. i hold her knee. is this ok? the postal service can’t ship this in a flat rate box.

distance desires ritual we find a matchbook what am i forgetting? ashen coffee. burning.

the next thing i know we’re at the terminal. lipstick can stain more than cardboard cups

time stopped in total: 14 hours, 28 minutes

triumph

you outfit us in leather armor
tie boots tight as heartstrings
we dance and breathe as one
enter prisms — offset blinking
 INFORMATION GLADLY GIVEN
BUT SAFETY REQUIRES AVOIDING
UNNECESSARY CONVERSATION
 
underground, understand a halo
grip my thighs below your wings
breathe — you ask “you ready?”
to leave, to ride, to fly. of course.
don’t look down & don’t let go
become part of a red machine:
a bell, a backpack, a balance
gripping tightly, holding loosely
i am not afraid to ride with you
to glide across rock and sound
my pilot is divine, invincible even
molded contours promise safety
 PLEASE HOLD ON
SUDDEN STOPS ARE
SOMETIMES NECESSARY
 
as we swerve, we synchronize
we’re on an island, smiling wide
small compared to a lighthouse
even smaller against your frame
my sister thought she could fall
along the same route we travel
but i know i fell for you already
ache is just what flight feels like

writst

i clocked the watch once and wished its red hand swept across your face i knew i’d want the date

i saw the toy’s hallmark that predates its maker cupid’s bow pointillism it looked best in color

i slipped on a staircase tripped on slippery oak fell into a concrete pool cut and bruised joints

you caught me there held me — rubbed salt into my fresh wounds to heal and to hurt me

a thin black strap is all that holds back the sun when this camera falls it’ll leak light forever

three solid bands form an unbroken bracelet brass never gleamed until becoming a label

holding mine down against white silk, gray wool, graffiti it’s easy to go deep

bonfire

we spin on turntables gift-wrapped bubbles plotting high treason

one query hangs on a hook near my thigh “how do you want to feel?”

you produce three words two supple, one sharp relaxed. caregiven. surrender.

we better not have another handle’s cold to the touch i hold your hand for warmth

fetching a towel and water unfamiliar closet and faucet you aren’t used to this, are you?

inside these walls, a forest i lead you down the worn path to a fire blazing at the center

it’s just us dancing there — adjust angles, rhyme rhythms dig holes with feet and fingers

you haven’t visited in years moonlight in an empty room i’ve never been, but will again

draw maps into memory twist silver, pink, and blue the way back is circular

mirror

i’m sorry i bumped into you. i thought you were a mirror. your clear surface showed what they saw of me then.

parties are meant for diffusion, but we focused instead. twisting the lens to almost make out what was there.

i’m sorry i couldn’t touch you. i thought you were a mirror. i feared leaving greasy prints for everyone to see.

museums of mailboxes and phones reveal past and future connections. a present — behind smudged display glass.

i’m sorry you didn’t see me waving at you in the city. i thought you were a mirror. you weren’t yet waving back.

being gay is hard sometimes. hotel bathrooms get steamy, you can’t always get the right angle before the image blurs.

i’m sorry we were interrupted. i thought you were a mirror. i never dreamed anyone would walk through it and shatter the glass.

i need to move but i can’t sleep. some things aren’t done yet. i’m hiding from sunrise, from men, under blankets and cardboard towers.

i’m sorry i looked so long. i knew you were a mirror, but i couldn’t spot the vanishing point. some reflections distort; yours perfects.

incision

half decade wishes:
a leveling out.
forbidden kisses
the right choice, no doubt
central park consult
king cole martini
review old results
discard bikinis
photograph the curves
archives in high gloss
the things i preserve,
they’ll surely just toss
day before phone calls
rage at the system
its stops, starts, & stalls
need to assist him
sleep, holding a heart
cleanse every surface
wrong name on the chart
of course you deserve this
wave as the doors close
don’t use the “b” word
eat eggs as you doze
the artwork looks blurred
a husband’s phone rings
let me inside there
treat you like a king
hold cups as your care
bumpy ride that night
late rooftop phone call
two beams of bright light
never forget fall
a week goes by fast
managing your pain
see yourself at last
straight scars and no drain
i cry more than you do
it hits me deeply
this thing that you choose
didn’t come cheaply
a body transformed
like overnight oats
years since your plans formed
i’ll keep taking notes

readwrite

have you ever had a girl cause engineering just for it, though

weeks of design on a one-off built for the thing — to program it

on the airplane commit to it: make it perfect, then install it

when you get there, show it slowly touch a curved shape feel its edges

unarchive it press it with force watch it open, animated

every app must have its settings even if they never vary

have you ever caused a toy to glow from within white light blinking

when you read it you can see it: why it matters, what you’ll put there

have you ever caused a thing to strip itself bare kernel panic!

this will only take a second, last a lifetime deep within you

type it all out hold it down now your domain, name hit the button

have you ever felt an object as it’s written becoming yours

poison

the black bottle kept
just out of reach
of those who fear
my obsidian liquid
a toxicology report:
deadly in large doses
but taken with care
the hurting heals us
sure, share a nightcap
wince with me in pain
we need this to sting
no easier, knowing it
small sips are sweet
deeper drinks, bitter
stone fruit can’t mask
a burning this intense
scared to let you see
me like this — red eyes
pierce pewter framing
you want, no, need to
as the spirit fully hits
there’s no stopping this
            drink.
the cork is broken now

steps

now please, sit back stretch out your legs relax awhile — furniture begs

pull off your boots i’ll kneel below slip off your socks and take it slow

bare both your soles flex all ten toes your footstool’s goal: to be repose

our arches meet — my back, your curve almost so much i don’t deserve

a faint perfume teases my nose the smoothest skin so rarely shows

i’ll work them deep with oiled hands their perfect forms each digit fanned

red lacquered nails command my eyes and higher heels you’ve made me buy

bare, they stay – no decoration focus trained on adoration

pressed on my face i’ll kiss you there and lick the base become ensnared

kick or trample i’ll take the pain with shoes sampled my body strains

pleads for pressure that space between — the greatest pleasure: touch from the queen

release the jewels that flood within wetness pools on shining skin

camcorder

twentysomething object built to take a beating— recording blurry scenes to wound cassette tapes.

humming with precision opening up when pressed her red button worndown by many careless owners.

secondhand machine with new ways of seeing inside freezing a frame when it can’t take this much in…

an observation device for triangular dynamics that separate signal and static projecting what is actual.

a new lease on life from repairs to its internals, charging, maintenance, & importantly: regular use.

gender.app

pull out my phone tap on the app needs to update… they always do

new gradient same icon shape wide colorspace hard to adjust

why do we all want to shapeshift? to be seen through filters we make

on the G train dark grey sweatshirt black leather boots riding crosstown

slider tempts me— drag it slowly no one else stares they just don’t care

this is my stop: girl in red dress heels to match her lipstick and tits

costume changes inside closets infinite fits incoherence

it’s not just me, everyone plays gender’s this game’s in-app purchase

micro actions & transactions never enough to fill the space

if i’m always searching for it, the right setting, flipping through them

will i know when i have nailed it? new release notes: patches the bugs

what if i’m stuck inside a loop? keep it running there’s no kill switch

eigengrau

the only way to ignore the sunrise is to close our eyes at daybreak

white light pours through delicate curtain lace— an unseen ocean roiling

more to see and to say as blue waves beckon, calling toward tomorrow

but no matter what we try, there’s no true darkness. light seeps in everywhere

the shade we find there feels almost ultraviolet; we see it together, apart

in separate beds, rooms on opposed coasts, we conjure the same cosmos

this color could be our own. when other lovers see it too, do they know we bathe in it?

108ºC

sunny side up eggs cook with sunshine denaturation begs, bonds across time

waveformed Q train park date prospects PascalCase names everywhere object

polycarbonate layers exposed gold livewire angel of gay prayers film stock, unexpired

bumblebee chapstick seeing in rainbows jet turbine fuel drips one port won’t close

nude

back then, i saw your body just on screens — pinpricks of light transferred across the line. soft curves and folds, i felt you in my dreams; those pictures, now, are burned into my mind.

and then i touched your silken skin at last, traced these lines with red ink until they dripped, gripped thighs while kissing slow, then hard & fast, embraced to warm the places we had stripped.

but now i’m separated from your touch, yearning for the ways we fit, like jigsaw pieces you never need to force too much. despite it all : i’m here. i won’t withdraw.

you’re nude before my eyes, no matter where. i’ll drink you up and leave them none to spare.

a⸺part

thin string between us stretching miles connecting our chests

tension we can sense tugging twine winding over land

we set it aside knotted tight when we’re together

the rope uniting us untying now because we’re home

we don’t need help to touch when we’re here

ftl

random chance meeting
sweater that shimmers
parties are fleeting
your glances glimmer
post selfies in slack
our dms vanish
a coffee date ask
making a plan-ish?
calls about lost work
texts about gender
watching your lil’ smirk
my heart grows tender
shopping for red skirts
sharing a small lunch
enjoying my quirks
i’m having a hunch…
flirting a little
to see if it sticks
too noncommittal?
or does it just click
late night at a show
we let our legs brush
at the bar i chose
you admit your crush
a ride to your place
the tension growing
sharing a small space
finally knowing
nervously waiting
for you to arrive
fuck, now we’re dating.
we instantly vibe

t4t

i read that things used to be different for us. that we used to hide behind heavy coats, from ourselves. i read that we’d get compared to cigarettes on the street in broad daylight just for walking the wrong way. things are different for us now. not because we are the majority, but because we are not, and we know that. our difference is our value.

things changed because seasons did. the old trees that once ruled the forest have fallen, been subsumed into the soil. things changed because our elders fought for us and their enemies dwindled. life is no less complicated here and now. it may be more so. but that complexity, that intricacy, that is part of what makes this worth it.

i went on a date yesterday. they had two faces and three names. his lips felt like safety and possibility and becoming. we didn’t need to connect our brains with wires to see. we spoke the same language, we knew the same songs. our bodies united like an antique lock and key, lubricated with the oil of our passion. i want more. no, i need it.

all my friends are trans. i broke up with the ones who weren’t.
they understood.

change is good. the people that don’t get that will never get us. not all change is for the better, but the potential for growth and for flourishing is all we have. the possibility that tomorrow will be a new day with new rules. and that we’ll be here for each other when it arrives. that we’ll nurture the seeds and each other. that we can.

just use mine

he’s wanted one, i think, a while still growing his, it takes its time i wonder: why not just use mine?

our parts are modular by design they’re aftermarket optimized hot-swappable and still divine

then i’m above and he’s below press into him, extend a loan tell him: touch, like it’s your own

he strokes it like a precious gift he must be worried, he’ll miss it the gratitude vibrates his wrist

he shakes as need remaps the mind and both our systems intertwine we once mistake his flesh for mine

i ask him softly if it was good he nods like i rewound the world we had made what no one could

poke

door opens— am i the fool?
gloves snap, now i’m playing my role
unstained steel tray cradles your tools
you wash me clean, i cede control
you sketch small leaves in purple ink
i play with you, this is our game
when it’s all done, what will they think?
art, artist, work— all share a name
calmly you ask “ready for stabs?”
there’s not a way for me to know
is this your temple or your lab?
we share one breath, it’s time to go
your sword and your eyes penetrate
music and pain blanket my brain
sometimes we should disregulate
questions pour out, blood from a vein
hours pass as you make passes
pricks turn into private pleasure
when we are through, our flesh collapses
every mark is made forever

birdcage

you ask me if i’m okay ⸻ with elevators? which strikes me odd, the way your eyes do

we board & take flight to the control room, 42 teacups on brass hooks carefully cluttered views

press my buttons, down with the same force you use to operate machines. the right pressure matters

the doors close around your fingers, lights flicker surging harnessed power i can’t look away, i won’t

we fall together back to earth where we stumble into your unmarked van. click of clear recognition

the next time i step into your cage you kiss my eyes closed and pull a lever that stops time

we’re suspended⸺ trapped in moments of wrought iron pressed against their grates and each other’s full frames

for as long as we are, we get to be happy

stick

winter cherry, lush pressed to the pane : clear swirling glass, vessels for grapes

red print attracts gazes from gays strange artifacts mouths go astray

first contact lasts longer than stains washed away fast — much like our brains

they always say lips that disguise can’t be the way, but never the why

shouldn’t we just paint what we feel even if lips must become the meal

“in your
ideal world,
what does
the future
of gender
look like”

gender abolition pronoun coronation human elocution border dissolution

frequent faggotry gorgeous gayety

sacred impiety campy pageantry

constant questioning mutual strengthening

boundary trespassing differents welcoming

bioavailable

there’s always a question
when i come into contact
with the substance of you.
how much of you can i absorb?
when you enter my bloodstream,
swim my veins where they lead.
the longer your half-life,
the more i’ll feel you there,
coursing through my core.
the closer your shape
gets to nature, the better
i can fully take you in.
drink you or swallow you
or let you dissolve under
my tongue every day as
you transform me with
area under your curves.
when is my next dose?

atlantic
pacific

i often wake three hours before your sunrise calls for a response logbook already soaked with ink we laugh, but even if we could, why constrain our outporings?

one winter day you ask for notes on undersea strings aware of both the timbre and tempo of these songs we start singing together

i fall into an evening rhythm talking and yes moaning into the phonograph, my head then swallowed by the brassy cone our voices sound better inside

when you open your ears again there’s so much weather to hear : wind and rain and quiet calm that lasts too long and means too much we keep sailing even without a map

true, land divides us more than sea, but these two coasts call to us both maybe it’s the sirens or the sounds of wavecrash against the shore — the dangers of unfathomed depths

accident(ily)

one fifty-four is not the hour to send texts, no autocorrect

risky confessions clipped affections dimmed i love you’s from neon rooms

could be a typo should i just lol or say her name, reply the same?

an oops can’t erase the thrumming bass as juniper slips from her bruised lips

tripping on her tongue fuck. uhh. drunk. umm. not that not yet

or at least — not like this