two-tone composition unknown destinations an operator obsesses over pickup & hangup

one +1 more connected than 2. you will. and the company that will bring it to you is me

push digits into holes, keep spinning until you feel the click in place switch arms, hands tire

blinking countless lines, voice carrying fast & far on continuous copper wire silence costs us as much—

draw X’s & O’s in octothorps sleep clutching our handsets there is so much to exchange during long-distance calling

meeting a Goddess, sunshine, envying its divinity & wings

stripping each white feather, dyeing them all in her blood

sewing souls into mine, stealing her golden halo

it will never fly again— riding only in my hand

my fallen angel: a bruised flower

your aperture narrows as f /our voices deepen sunlight burns through exposed cloth shutters

we made you to protect an us we never realized would be safe as she is it’s no decorative pansy

darkrooms reveal stains & splatters under safety lightbulb, glowing ruby our eyes don’t adjust yet

we have twins, don’t we? is it sisters, not twins? god, no that’s a different flower entirely — rosemary

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

you outfit us in leather armor tie boots tight as heartstrings we dance and breathe as one enter prisms — offset blinking

underground, understand a halo grip my thighs below your wings breathe — you ask “you ready?” to leave, to ride, to fly. of course.

don’t look down & don’t let go become part of a red machine: a bell, a backpack, a balance gripping tightly, holding loosely

i am not afraid to ride with you to glide across rock and sound my pilot is divine, invincible even molded contours promise safety

as we swerve, we synchronize we’re on an island, smiling wide small compared to a lighthouse even smaller against your frame

my sister thought she could fall along the same route we travel but i know i fell for you already ache is just what flight feels like

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.

there’s always a question when i come into contact with the substance of you.

how much of you can i absorb? when you enter my bloodstream, swim my veins where they lead.

the longer your half-life, the more i’ll feel you there, coursing through my core.

the closer your shape gets to nature, the better i can fully take you in.

drink you or swallow you or let you dissolve under my tongue every day as

you transform me with area under your curves. when is my next dose?