why conventional methods of sexing suck
because you do that same thing with your tongue every time. another you on top of me or
me on top of you thing. a thing that doesn’t have a name, but it’s boring as fuck.
because the breast, not the nipple, is often forgotten. the rounding of flesh as round as your
eyes sucking up my body but not really seeing me. the roundness of my hole that doesn’t
always need something inside to feel full.
because i desire so many things, not in sexual ways. a fistful of wildflowers, a piece of
homemade bread, the air of something whispering in my ear that i’m someone that can be
seen. ghost sex is a lost art.
because you have no imagination and it’s me doing all the talking.
because my body wants many bodies, not other bodies. but your body in new forms.
on sex with a cancer
remember the night we both
ppppppmasturbated & it was your face that got me there
not your tongue or your prick, but your face
ppppppyour freckles, uncountable and as delicate
as newt toes : seahorses : a fish eye
with the click of your claw
ppppppcomes forth frothy midnight moonshine
spanning & sprinkling like microscopic things
ppppppor stars or your freckles
remember the afternoon in a sauna bedroom like the sauna
ppppppbus we rode where i unzipped your jeans
with an skylight window & piles of pillows/hearts
atop a mountain alive with murmuring potatoes : corn : cigarette smoke
soaked your back, your brow, giggling at exertion, you touched
ppppppthe deepest part of me
remember the time we did it in a small Colombian town
ppppppwhere you were born & bore me bottles of rum
in a basement room of your friends uncle’s house
we were supposed to be quiet, but i squeaked out a squeal
ppppppwhen you nailed me from behind
remember the time on absinthe : floor-mattress : lampposts
remember the time on acid : the small village : next day fruit stands
remember the time sober : pool : hot tub : hot box bedroom top
remember the time we talked about doing it, but forgot
remember the time behind trees & a carousel with screaming ghosts
remember the time on the old springs of my parent’s matrimonial bed
remember the time you sucked me &
zipped me down to bare bones & exposed poems