quick, to the closet
he whispers / frantic / eager for me / to be unseen. / we both know
femme is a thing / never to be / discovered / to survive
this world. / his eyes widen / his pleading eclipsed / by morbid curiosity.
what better pleasure / is there / than to be / dressed in death?
you’re so brave for being yourself
his words erect / a colosseum / a crown of beating / hearts
atop his head. / he tells me / i make him / feel so alive
like standing near a hospital / or a slaughterhouse. / what
will he be doing / when i take / my last / breath?
i’m fine with the gays
as long as we don’t / . / how did i become / accustomed to suffocation? / i’ve seen
his dream before / a sea of faceless queers / reaching / from beneath / his feet.
he never knew power / could be so erotic. / he wants me / to take him
to Pride. / we can avoid / the fags / spend all our time / at the Nike tent.
cool, unlike those other queers
i’m always expected / to swallow / insults. / like when he says / i can move
almost like Man. / how my body / is a pride parade / the fight that swayed
in my elder’s hips / no more/ than a fading memory / the faggot in me / tamed
hopefully beat / to death. / he pauses / satisfied / while my throat / fills with emptiness.
i’m not usually attracted to people like you
he says / as he watches me / dance. / is there anything / more intimate
than sharing / insecurity? / he wants me / to watch it / consume us all
each flame / gasping / before we’re forgotten. / i’ve seen that face before
flesh tearing into smile. / is he picturing me / naked / or dead / or both?