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