Jacklyn Janeksela

jacklyn janeksela can be found @ felled limbsOddball MagazineThe Nervous BreakdownBerfroisBarrelhouseUut PoetryPig LatinThought CatalogLuna MagazineTalking Book Three Point PressDumDum MagazineVisceral Brooklyn, & Anti-Heroin Chic.  she is in a post-punk band called the velblouds. her baby @ femalefilet.  more art @ artmugre & a clip.  she is an energy.
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why conventional methods of sexing suck

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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.

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on sex with a cancer

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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remember the time you sucked me &

zipped me down to bare bones & exposed poems

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