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

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

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 signing 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

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