Fingers cling to the gravel, feet balanced hip-length apart: push. Body parallel to the street—in midair —you fly past hydrants, buildings, burgeoning flowers emitting lemon sweet. Remember, you never left the Earth. In the air, you were a bird on all fours. You’ll forget. This moment will melt into the summer, taking the vision of together that means more than not being on all fours.
I am a composite of disjointed fragments. My arms are: my legs are: my hands are: my face is: Me Of course, my head is more me than my arms, legs, or hands. Imagine two of me. Perfect replication. Would I fuck me? Would I sexualize me? My hands? Yes. My arms? Yes. My legs? Oh, yes. I already do. My arms, my legs, my hands. Those parts that are less me. But my face? That is too me. It […]