my dog slumbers aback the rickety mid-century bench i find myself writing from for the first time since the move—the desk slightly too high, i press my shoulders into the tops of my wings for a slanted bridge and widen my thighs across the diagonals of the pew to edge my pelvis downward—conscious of how my body ebbs in space as i type.
my life a retreat of sorts, i sit in a cabin several years familiar with me as time passes toward my own structure. whistling anxieties about timeline, weather, and finances float parallel to my confidence in collaboration, my friends’ tractor delivered to the forestline of my property as prep, and my erotic surrender to heartbreak mingling with my newfound amygdala reset talking to myself with respect, mischief, and dignity delight.
i had a sense i’d be this person as i have met them before. the gap-toothed child wearing dirty fingernails, roadburned knees, and tadpole scent on their garments. i’m so in love with kamra, and kamra’s love tastes the pungiest to me. to think of the joy it brings me to be loved on by me produces liquid in both my eye ducts and cervix. everyday my flesh is not touched, i whimper at the loss, but i relish in the tectonic realm atmospheres i witness myself exist through and want this succulent animacy for all.
thank you for being. <3
mmmmm 🌀🌀🌀🌀💙💙💙💙