Heartthrobbing beatpulse—what a player you are!
Go about yr teasing like it’s Thurs night
& you just sent nudes, ring in labret cuz basic
-ally i’m hot for it. Desire—fucking hilarious
consort—push pull jerk jolt pull pull push.
You want someone
so evanescent they blur, the thing about
a crush being implausibility.
There’s seldom any follow-through
rarely nodal seepage. Who knows? Part the fun
what’s obvious is how it becomes you
the sense of you wearing it—shaky
gestures & crumpled speech, a joke in the butt
of yr jeans. My heart digs
the tension of unrequited love
what i call rejection edging—low stakes
heartbreak & flushbreast
distress. You must become adept at
several things at once. What’s utopic
about the crush is its ghost veneer, never quite
materializing like you dreamt—
though the prospect contours nanoseconds
vis-á-vis duration. The way crushing starts
is you feel everything excessively
& it overwhelms. Goosebumps as chorus
lifts bridge, when they cross the floor
& you panic, turn beet & spill gut
to friend, yr mesh & slutty
rave gear pierced by wind
blowing any illusion
that March = spring.
There must be a million doors & i
would walk through each of them.
Y’know what i mean? Desire—
too much & always the mood.
My feet beat easy rhythm in NYC noise.
Sometimes i fall in L----’s arms,
sometimes L---- falls in mine
or we seek life elsewhere
as want feels right. We always find our ways
out then back again, slightly changed.
T---- says taking pleasure in one another
’s pleasures makes us unfuckwithably hot.
That’s called compersion & there’s a lot
of softness in the world, even considering—.
A form carries blithely through crowd
musk & yr breathless. A customer steps
up, woos you w their gap tooth.