SOL: Gamine

She is eaten up by clever words
Rotting with desire, she abhors the way
It makes her feel; tormented by illicit thoughts
Wondering if she should have acted sooner.
Eyelids shut in reproach, searching for oblivion
As I adorn myself in honey, chains, roses, thorns.
She watches with barely repressed ferocity making nimble fingers
Shudder.
She watched me peel it all off, she ached with
The thought of how soft
It could be;
The all-consuming desire to sway the
Pendulum of pleasure a little further her way.

3AM Thoughts // AKA “The Devil Is A Woman.”

SOL: Stella

He gets high off the ways my
Body opens and creates space
Intergalactic highways through
Arteries making his heart race
Watching muscle stiffen and
Clench in unspoken haste

3AM Thoughts // AKA “Something Better to Send Into the Ether.”

MIND: Fluid

I have never been able to understand people with consistent lives – people who, for example, grow up in a liberal Catholic household and stay that way; or who in junior high school are already laying down a record on which to run for president one day. Imagine having no discarded personalities, no vestigial selves, no visible ruptures with yourself, no gulf of self-forgetfulness, nothing that requires explanation, no alien version of yourself that requires humor and accommodation. What kind of life is that?

Tongues Untied // Michael Warner