fuck physicists
who don’t know about us, how
we lust and love and
fuck and yell and cry and sweat
and oh my god,
i am so tired. have been since
the day i arrived,
but you’re tired
too. and yet— brilliantly,
you are a constellation that
keeps changing, flitting, flirting,
fitting. we are sultry matter
circling and swirling. go faster to
see what happens when we crash
into each other once more, drawn
like magnets in the breakdown.
Poems
the comedown
cooling off and exhaling
as i grab the hose to
take a drink? one of the best
liminal spaces. it is a fleeting moment
where i feel at peace, grasping
onto it like the chains of a swing
or the perfect morning wood. sleepy
and languid, stretching and sweaty.
just one more moment, please.
highly illogical
what does space smell like? metallic
or clean? burnt. i am a decaying
star. getting sucked
into a black hole, scratching at any
thing i can to hold back. my mind spirals
off its axis and it takes an
entire goddamned mission control
chain-smoking room to get on with it.
the only things keeping me going are pounding the pavement and
your mercy. some days
it subtly creeps in; all i want is
to go limp and relinquish to the
vacuum, but i resist. the edges of
my vision blur, the suffocating silence
holds me in its infinite arms. then
the pop of gravity on my back,
one foot in front of
the other. grounded for the foreseeable.
i want so badly to
float away and finally rest, but i’ll
stay here instead.
rest is for quitters.
energy
something imperceptible to anyone but
us, hairline fracture tweak and shift.
the air tastes different as the clouds
hang low. the house feels off as my
laundry piles higher like tower 2,
begging to be else
where. i’ve put it all off
for too long.
sullen leaves blend with the trash, yet i
won’t avoid the crunch on the
street where i live. a dull hum hangs in both
the air and my head, the energy
different for both of us. cooking
is now an Everest to conquer, and my
brain kernel panics.
how will things look this time
next year, and
the year after that?
same as it ever was, even
upside down. we are still each
other, spun out.
not yet
a part of Him that makes my
mouth water uncontrollably before i even
knew what that gnawing was. freshly
sixteen, sneaking off for a gleeful august
day spent on his twin bed. eyes
hungrily wide and my mouth a
round his burgeoning, warm shaft felt
natural— making me clench my legs
to feel that throb. his gruff moans sneaking
out as i bob my head up and
down, call and response as i muffle
my own with Him. (our friends just down
stairs.) hitting the back of
my throat with fretful fistfuls of my
sun-in striped hair as
he closes his eyes, longing for
more. deeper. hit the back and make
me catch myself, teary eyed yet
determined.
now in another lifetime, i sneak a glance
and catch His green eyes roll
clean back as i
take as much of him as
i can, smiling. he sees it, moving my curtain
of blonde hair to the side.
a considerate man places a pillow
down so i know just how
he plans to ruin me. i ponder
fingering my
self but i don’t want to distract
from my smoky-eyed focus. but,
an intrusive thought—
that familiar, slight panic as He
chokes me, feral and gasping. i flood
as my eyes cross. he firmly makes me
savour Him, leaking and sweet. never
relenting but moaning ragged.
pulling pushing thrusting growling.
good
boy.
professional hands won’t leave
my head or hair as i work to get him
soaked. electric adrenaline takes charge all
over my body, the pillow beneath
my knees damp. warmth consumes me
with every thick inch disappearing. in my
wet palm, i feel his balls ever so slightly
tighten.
“not yet”, i wink.
the MARS DEN 