chromatographics

gay poems by mb bischoff

#frames

2 poems

photobooth

shoes stick to the floor, we wander past the bar into a dim red-lit lounge. pinball, locked door, you. you’re a seeing machine. pull your curtain closed— shroud us in secrets that end just above our waist.

tap on a train faregate, a beep reminds us that transportation isn’t free, a short trip still costs us. you’re a seeing machine. see what we’re made of. we’re trapped here now, we can’t hide from flash.

all whirring and waiting. don’t know how long ‘til our capture, our release. we kiss from impatience. you’re a seeing machine. our mouths are blurring, hands in hair, bite marks in flesh. we have no time.

falling back into the light. was there music before? we lean against the box, we cannot lose contact. you’re a seeing machine. you take time to develop. wait here: a strip will fall. freeze us in four frames.

Black-and-white four-frame photobooth strip of two people kissing.

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