6 poems
door in our place i never open out of fear and too much want touch the knob — i am shocked
sounds like a party in there but where is my invitation? missing out doesn’t scare me
sometimes, it’s open a crack scents from the kitchen waft my favorite dish on the menu
i give up. nothing better to do splayed on gray wool, rubbing nothing matches their rhythm
the guests tire, it swings open streamers and confetti spilling must be my job to clean ’em up
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.
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.
have you ever had a girl cause engineering just for it, though
weeks of design on a one-off built for the thing — to program it
on the airplane commit to it: make it perfect, then install it
when you get there, show it slowly touch a curved shape feel its edges
unarchive it press it with force watch it open, animated
every app must have its settings even if they never vary
have you ever caused a toy to glow from within white light blinking
when you read it you can see it: why it matters, what you’ll put there
have you ever caused a thing to strip itself bare kernel panic!
this will only take a second, last a lifetime deep within you
type it all out hold it down now your domain, name hit the button
have you ever felt an object as it’s written becoming yours
thin string between us stretching miles connecting our chests
tension we can sense tugging twine winding over land
we set it aside knotted tight when we’re together
the rope uniting us untying now because we’re home
we don’t need help to touch when we’re here
he’s wanted one, i think, a while still growing his, it takes its time i wonder: why not just use mine?
our parts are modular by design they’re aftermarket optimized hot-swappable and still divine
then i’m above and he’s below press into him, extend a loan tell him: touch, like it’s your own
he strokes it like a precious gift he must be worried, he’ll miss it the gratitude vibrates his wrist
he shakes as need remaps the mind and both our systems intertwine we once mistake his flesh for mine
i ask him softly if it was good he nods like i rewound the world we had made what no one could