I’d always wanted this, I just didn’t know
to give it a
name. Faggot 4 Faggot. Mustachioed
Dyke 4 Bearded
Lady Realness how a group of
gay boys
I know sat around talking about all the
masculine
boys they dated
in their pasts, how I sat there silent but
recognizing I’ve never
done that, I ’d always wanted berries
in dangling
tongues and picnic baskets bursting over freshly
dried grass wanted
strawberry -rouged cheeks and
plum -puckered lipstick lips marking my
neck
wanted dragon fruit magic curving
body dancing
at midnight on a beach no music playing
but the internal rhythm
still swaying our souls or Limp-Wrist 4 Sick–
Lisp or Armpit-Huffer 4 Between–
Toe-Licker
Fanny-Pack-Fag 4 Betsy-Johnson-Phone-Purse
dialing successfully
to check on our
people orange I just
pulsing
playful passionate orange you just
the silliest fig in the fielded trees I wanted
someone who hated
toxic
masculinity as much as I did who would
shove bananas in their
mouths running
to the street to bike the city
alive
in long skirts and floral
tops hairy
legs with glittered beards chest tattoos
with chest scars
beautiful hairlines surgically lifted beautiful
jiggling flesh above my
tongue
and I’ve tasted so much juicy
sweat marks
I’ve squeeze rinds of so many scrumptious
wrists angled to pull
me whirling
gravities or kiwi colored sandals pressing
firmly forward
through the wind we’ll shield
each other
from debris that
stings the entire world’s eyes we’ve come
prepared our
bags leaking with snacks
medical supplies
a blanket if you ever need one
