fucking a stranger twice my age in the back of a greyhound bus en route to cleveland

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     fucking strangers feels better,

     feels better fucking strangers

     —joan of arc, “ne mosquitoes pass.”

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there are plenty of lonesome faggot hearts

beneath the surface of the sea

 

like cops’ corpses in the dirt

making themselves useful as compost

 

after another night

of swiping right to silence

 

i think of him showing me

pictures of his younger self in drag

 

i touch myself to my memory

warm phantom feelings

 

dual-type fairy & ghost

hitting me hard & critical

 

a mental slideshow of hazy gazes

seeming more & more like memes

 

like me to my dad when he came out as a trump supporter:

“why would you say something so controversial yet so brave?”

 

or me when the man old enough to be my dad

asked if he could suck my cock & spit my cum into

 

my mouth:

“ok, boomer”

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