Fuck Like We Did (A Poem For The Jaded)

I want to fuck
the way we did when we believed
we were invincible
when we thought ourselves unbreakable
when we knew nothing of hearts shattering
or bones fracturing under the weight of unrealized dreams

I want to promise the impossible/again

I want to unlearn this hesitation
that colours my steps/measured
slow/trudge that I am now
I want the urge
to move erratic/irrational
fall helplessly in lust with someone
who was promised to someone else

I want to know that we were meant for each other

without proof I want to know
we were divined
by God or fate or fortune
I want my actions
to belie the fact of these brutal years
that have shuttered me
passions held taut beneath this loose gut

I want my body back

the one that could wrap itself careless
round the idea of forever/without fear
I want to leap off some idiotic ledge/I want to
hedge less
I want to erase these lines drawn definitive
round the edges of what I can do
i want to ignore the blotted lines running decisive
through the list of things I decided not to do

I want to do everything
you ask
ask you anything/without knowing
how you will answer

I want to shake this inertia

move you to tears/with the things
I am too afraid to say to you
late at night/early morning sex
unexpected

I want to fuck like we did
when we were doing it/for love
foolhardy/with hardly any fear of the future

I want to believe in love/like I did
before I had a kid/before we knew how to stop
mid-orgasm
before these impermeable cracks
hammered steel beams through the fragile flesh of my heart

before my art started making money
before balancing my emotional budget became a thing
I needed to do
before our wings broke
before the yoke of collected experience
dragged us away from our best selves

I want to do more than just fuck

I want more days of feeling/foolish
and full/and flustered/and flushed

I want more
of myself/more of you
more of us
wanting more out of today
and tomorrow
and all the days
we aren’t even sure will ever come

Staceyann Chin

Her Tongue

Her hair was as long as her tongue,
Maybe a little longer
Her tongue was not normal,
I think it still is not
Her tongue was so long that everytime we kissed I’d push her away after seconds thinking her tongue might get stuck in my throat or below and I’d die,
I’d push her away, breathe in and breathe out, take a long breath and then pull her back to kiss her one last time
I kissed her like i have kissed her hundreds of times but never learned so i kissed her like it was my first,
She kissed me like she knew her father was watching us but she was not bothered,
She kissed me like she would die if she did not,
A sick salsa of our tongues,
Like two snakes making love
Like two horny lesbians trying to rape each other,
Her tongue felt like mine so i wanted the world to witness our kiss just to make myself believe that I was not kissing myself and that she was real
She once kissed me so passionately that I bit her tongue just to make her stop and asked her if my heart was as sweet as she said it was
She looked at me and said nothing, like the catholic guy who flinched when i asked him the possibility of Jesus being a bastard and god being a rapist
She kissed me deep

Atript Abhinav

My Favourite Thing About Stems, Butches, Chapstick Lesbians

My most favourite thing
Is when they still have long hair
And dress like guys do now
Not super baggy pants
But not form fitting either

And you take them to bed,
Or, knowing stems,
They take you to bed.
And all that manliness
About them is still
Just barely there,
In the slope of their shoulders
And the way their hands touch you

But then they get undressed
And it’s the most beautiful
Combination
Of boy and girl.
They’re so fresh and confident
But not cocky

They’re respectful and talented
And it’s like they try to only
Show the manly side

But then you get into bed
And it’s like unwrapping
A present
That only gets better
Every time you unwrap it

A little piece of their femininity
Uncovered just for you,
In that moment only.

Lindsey Ross

Unforgettable School Days

An excellent read for a Sunday morning at year’s end

Left hanging

Oh, yes, it’s true. We can endure much more than we thought we could…

like a monkey on heat

She had a supple, slender body and she was like a monkey on heat as a lover.

David Lodge
A man of parts

Her need keeps her running hot and constant

She leans into me in the queer morning light for her kiss, and my mouth slackens and my head lolls back. Every day is the same, and night no different than day. Darkness, rain needling against the rooftop and windows, wind thundering through distant trees. She never sleeps. Her need keeps her running hot and constant, a nuclear reactor of hunger that can never be shut down. – It’s not so bad, my sister said, the few times I spoke with her until she stopped taking my calls. – She takes from you, but she gives you something back, in a way. It’s almost an even exchange. – What does she do, what is she, how can she be? I asked over and over again. – Is she a vampire? A ghoul? An insect? Why do we submit?

– I don’t know, my sister always replied. – Who can say?

Livia Llewellyn
The Mysteries

I Keep Trying to Leave but the Sex Just Gets Better and Better

This is not what the door’s for – slamming
you up against, opening
your legs with my knee. And it isn’t
leaving, the thing I keep doing
with my shoes still on, or in the car
in the driveway in broad
daylight after waving
goodbye to your neighbours
again. But my body’s a bad
dog, all dumb tongue
and hunger, down
on all fours again, tied up
outside again, coming
when called but then always refusing
to stay. I know what I’m trying
to say, but it isn’t
talking, the thing that I do with my mouth
to your ear, even though
we got the orifices right. To leave
I would have to put clothes on,
and they’d have to fit better
than all of this skin. To leave
I would have to know where to begin:
like this, pressed up
against the half-open window? Like
this, with my foot on the gas? If seeing
is believing then why isn’t touching
knowing for sure? I just want my nerves
to do the work for me, I don’t want
to have to decide. There’s blood in my hands
for fight and blood in my legs
for flight and nowhere
a sign. Believe me, I’ll leave if you just
let me touch you again for the last
last time.

Ali Shapiro

Question