how softly we bash against nothing.
the soft scythe.
no use for a name
we bathe in more steam than water.
we plan our captive nothingess and race
to face our mothers
DREAMING of the day
our passports fit in our pockets, our wallets,
making space for me in knicker drawers,
lavender bagged identification drooling over 32C’s.
we grow out of beds made above us,
treating our lovers like our daughters.
then shifting shifts our noses to the sky
making sure we can see over
raised voices and forgiveness on rye
with salmonella traces on your gentle hands we kiss.
don’t do this. asparagus tips. sliced onion tears of acetic life
hermaphroditic spelling of homogeneous copulation,
sexual beings fucking kittens with breasts and bottoms like tinkerberries.
we will fuck so we will grow.
white wine muscles stay hot in our bowl,
rice grain eyes.
morning breath notions of self love. hard cocks. strong hands.
uncontrollable urges we have never had want for.
we have. we use. swap our skins contort our bodies let our wrists catch
up with our minds
wrench our tongues
out of our mouths
reach and know
if not reach and try
and boil our food ’till its fired we die.
tea spoons in our hands face in dinner plates.
posture possesses nothing of me. i am a rump.
we hope we will amount to something in the eyes of nobody.
nothing in the eyes of all.
congratulations neighbour you are a homosapien now.