to forgive me I masturbate then pray to God to forgive me I masturbate then hate myself after scrolling endlessly through porn I never find exactly what it is that I’m looking for because there is no category for my type of desire
More dark than gray, but not yet quite dark entirely, the stories keep ending as if there were a limit to what any story could hold onto, and this the limit, the latest version of it, looking a lot like the sea meeting shore.
His teeth are lilies bursting from asphalt—white, many petaled opulences; amid danger, there is also beauty. When he whips me with the riding crop of his tongue, I curl into the earth’s first question: To desire what exactly? He has nothing
I have found you where I shouldn’t—in the wrong bodies, at the wrong time, and once on a subway platform with my feet stuck to a pool of dried soda taking gum from a near-stranger’s mouth. That night you were spearmint and the 6 train. I have been woken by you, put to bed by you.