Sparrows fly at the sounds of church bells
And you approach the preacher
Inching closer but knowing there will be no touch
Only a fleeting exchange between his knowing eyes
And the furious crimsons of your ear


Viscid dreams flow forth from your body by night
Hidden stains casually tucked away in the morning laundry basket
Because you are you again: Bespectacled, femme, unappetizing
Invisible to the muscle-bound and the muscle-hungry
Offensive to the homonet’s masc reticular geometries


Until one day, bohemia finds you,
Caresses your hairy chest and plasters your wardrobe with neon wallpaper
Whispering insistently in every echo chamber of your veins
Until you cave and finally get that nose pierced—

R.I.P. virtuous boy

Priyank Pillai
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