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.

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

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

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