I am not glass
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I keep almost getting somewhere
Capturing a phrase like,
"The bodies that helped us become"
Last week I went home for the first time in years;
I crept in the closet and locked up the door.
By the time I had returned the cohort was mobile, and the sharp scent of a fallen pine brought me back into myself. Still, I felt separate. Still, I was waiting. Still, I was shaking in my boots.
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you feel so tied to this moment
you feel so intrinsic to the present
I tap the icons for the dating apps on my Android, wondering what line others will use to strike up a conversation with me. And then I see the one that makes me sigh in exasperation, leaving me wondering how many times I will get this message because I decided to publicize my sexual orientation.
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Bonheur sounds like a kiss in any language,
and I’ve been saying tristesse over and over
for a year to get it right. Sadness.
At least it was lube and not whiskey
At least it was lube and not wine
It’s hard trying to live for yourself
to shake that dust off your desires
sinking further into my own embrace I daydream
I have been sitting jaws locked tight in these moments
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