Femininity is what I like about typical men. It’s a disappointing fantasy, like the ones where penises float away. But anyhow, get up and ask me a question! Feel her, feel her heartache as if someone were two people who can never choose the identification as he too. Feel her but do not look. I want to. Shouldn’t this be porn?

I know it. I fucking think about how he thinks it’s only me he desires. And I am this often enough. I need his other in me, for me. So keep it. Say it too. Be strong and present. How does it feel? I have failed people I love by accepting their silence.

I am close to something that is not altogether desire. Make him my own, further make him a woman, clearly gendered butch. Butch is a desire, say it real, and it becomes your heart. What choice is this? I am observing someone with the hardest center, blaming them.

I am not out as a wife. If I was able to say, if I say, while we are away, “trans men are constantly grave.” He’s something frustrated, naming “fluid,” “women,” “queer.” I identify a similar world, so impossible that I feel as if I am an it. And making it through writings of gender and desire. Just type in an asexual gender. I am really trying, but it would be selfish.

I am attracted to others’ hugs. I even want me. Perhaps I can want desire. Perhaps I don’t have to just reject men. I play with a clouding wall, time-locked. I am your Rorschach, but I have an inability to be her, I’m not gay enough and my heart is insufficient. Yet I am deeply gay with him. Some may not like it.

Someone wrote stories in which she can only hate a poet if she isn’t a woman. Just never when she is sharing a masculine secret. I too saw the possibility, not because I was cooler, or her source. Shatter. Define your expended heart. Is it gay? So say they say, that you are a kind man but too shallow; you don’t know what you want.

I have body issues. I have no center. Touch my name. Accepting these things, I tried, I tried to face being, and I would pretend I cannot ever say “man.” Somehow I’m still proud, nonetheless. These activities are a part of wrenching gender, revolting gender, so I am going to be him for a whole lot of life. I’m a blushing queer. I can be, not the struggles that I have rationally, harmed by gender, by truths, by heartache.

He has 21 eyes of masturbation and anxiety. He and his bodies are men in a feminine embrace because love is sharing. Let’s go man! Let’s not be disconnected at contact, be in this closeness. Boys, that’s when you blend into life with flirtatious certainty, between doses of foreplay, struggling over who is real — is it you or me? Shatter all bodies that matter.