poems · page 2

you outfit us in leather armor tie boots tight as heartstrings we dance and breathe as one enter prisms — offset blinking

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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