#grindr
it was the first time we met; i was freshly 18.
and that Fiorentino barbuto--i guessed aloud that he was 24.
and he laughed at me, but softly.
i got into this italian's car unquestioningly,
the 'plan A' having been compromised.
Whitney Houston in my ears;
his hand drifting over my thigh;
the gold bracelet on his wrist.
desolate hilltop, well outside city center.
it was nighttime. so many twigs and leaves;
bottle of red;
political conversation;
sitting on two tree stumps;
trying to speak spanish;
city below.
we stood up.
his left hand took me; i bet he bruised me somewhere.
(i had shaved all over, thank god)
he caressed my face with his right,
his thumb dragging against my jaw
as he surely longed for someone who had left,
and i longed for the one i was yet to meet.
i saw the golden lights through my eyes pressed shut.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 11:27 PM UTC
Grindr open, glaring livid,
Green my eyes, and heart constricted.
Orange, blue, the conversation,
Can’t you stick to ************
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 9:42 AM UTC
The metro station caged the slumbering metropolis
From this dingy mid-March town fridged in January wind
A ******** clad explorer marches in mellow strides
All the way to you
To back the lover's whisper spoken by static selfies
With fleshy whiffs, a borrowed jacket and a gawky face
Blind to but maybe fiddly pepples on the ground.
Down at a backstreet diner, its locked out doorstep,
A hygge cover made for two,
Humming low is the city's nocturnal remains' dubstep
Coming from an illuminating exit,
Luring the busy hands and buckled excitement, whereto ----
Whereto the vacant main street glides them
With the at ease traffic,
Down loops of everextending branches
I followed you
To the roundabout between
two surrounding glassware towers
Where gleaming sparks ***** on each other's windows
Divining themselves by lighting up pavements, entrance signs
and glooming heavens.
Corridors, lawned with clutters from refurbishments,
Lead to glassrooms of suspended business meetings,
And that cozy cavern,
Where you flump into a swivel chair.
Your inhibited expression unwinds
As my curious caress explores
The damp torso slumping deeper into the pliable seat.
And a devoted twitch of ecstasy, blossom unexpectedly
On your face,
Which already shied itself away from its audience,
Doubtlessly, for way too many times ----
A candid sight I could only cache from you,
Because I intend to see it again, your effortless reaction.
The sarcoma-like lump left uncut at the bottom,
Wrinkled like wind waves in a Ukiyo-e drawing.
I scoop the saline ripple, so you can taste it beforehand.
Our bodies started gravitating
onto each other or all over the place.
And lips, they startlingly perched,
out of wills, like magnets
For the very first time.
I've been feeling patient.
And I love taking my time with you
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
10:30pm
Weather’s colder than I thought
Where is my Über?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
I can still trace,
Where his hands were last night,
I can still picture,
His chest and how it felt,
I can still taste,
His *** growing in my mouth,
I can still feel,
His body perched up on me,
I can still recall,
His voice, grunting in pleasure.
But his face I can't remember,
Neither his name I could tell.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 7:52 AM UTC
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because my crippling expectations of romantic relationships
are consistently juxtaposed to the disappointment of swiping left
or right, double tapping, it’s a match!
and hoping to find a sharp needle in this **** of a haystack
only to find a blunt object blubbering
"are you masculine?"
because the chunk of flesh dangling between my thighs
or the beard on my chin
or the hair on my chest
isn’t an obvious dictation of
my status as identifying male,
because “masculinity” has now been decided by the masses
to be left to the chiseled neanderthals laden with testosterone
too doped up on their post-workout endorphins
to do anything about the internalized misogyny
that costs lives on the daily.
i used to piece together outfits like puzzles
hoping that when it’s solved, maybe,
possibly,
on the off chance “you’ve” nothing better to look at,
"you" might notice me.
because i was raised in a society that taught me
looking good would get “your” attention
so you might want to open up the box
and begin piecing together the real puzzle of why we
treat our brothers and sisters like **** for
not conforming to your black and white box of
"masculine" expectations
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because i will continue to express myself as i see fit.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC