Search

The Sugar from Fruit, I.

I like men, too.

But the wisp and tang of a woman's voice when she teases me requires a giggle and quip.


I like men, too.

But it was a woman who first made light of my sunspots and showed me the medicines for it.


I like men, too.

But it was a fully formed breast that I laid my palm over to ask if she felt comfortable.


And when I die, I want a woman to bury me with the hands

That rubbed my lower back every month in exactly the cramping dimples,

That pointed to her own body with the promise to carry the child if we ever wanted that life,

That borrowed my shirts and my shoes and my bralettes to bring a piece of me as she goes,

That took turns painting nails with me (and she kissed my forehead when I crouched down to coat her pinky),

That caught the sugar of me on her fingers and licked it clean as if to say yes I love you and there is no part of you that disgusts me or makes me afraid.


I like men, too.

But it was a woman I pressed into myself,

And I carried her in me like oxygen and nutrients.


And it will be a woman in the end,

As if to say once ego dies, I only want to be understood.

Recent Posts

See All

She arrives in my life like Nude Descending a Staircase by Duchamp And sits on the rattan chair that I've set on milk crates for this drawing session. Her body folds to the pressure of the chair, And

Kindness is not a heavy bargain. Why else does the wind persist during a heatwave— And I know for certain I love you. I will never be mean. I don't need to know who the grass moves for Even when I'm n

When we are together and alone I unfurl like a leaf, Spilling everything inside of me that I've kept all the week. And since the sun must also die one time each night, I leave the window cracked open