I want to be in the autoerotic
I will not touch you in order to set off some cascade of fireworks and minefields
I will touch you slowly, gently, with love
I want to know my own skin
I will not isolate myself into fantasies
I will find pleasures I haven’t been able to access
Never again will I endure your touch
Never again will I hope that you can know what I need
Never again will I cross your lines and leave you for dead
And one day we will touch
I will know your skin with a tenderness reserved for my own
I will listen to what brings your pleasure
I will ask for what I need
Our lines will meet with trust and honesty
And the friction between us will give off sparks of life not death
We will no longer grope around half awake in the darkness
We will live and laugh in the light
Month: November 2015
sight
There was once a beautiful boy in here. His wrists are bound and bleeding from the rope. He’s naked and hiding in a corner underground, not quite aware of how to stand straight. The light hurts his eyes. Insects have started to eat his flesh. He’s muttering, “I will love, I will grow, I will live. I will love, I will grow, I will live.”
I am so naked.
Wake up!
Look at me goddamnit!
a force
Blood flows into the folds
Dried into a purple bruise on silicone
With each stroke I’m coming alive
You are my movement and direction
A wounded force
I’ll make you a monument
doodle of my loss
from an arrow
gas pumps and cable ends
glass bottles and rolling pins
hot dogs and bananas
You are direction. Action. A flow of current.
An instrument of love
transpoetics 