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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.