#glass

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.

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

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.

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