Goths Playing Poker and Kinksters Bowling should both be black velvet paintings. I’ve been talking with Brian for the past few hours. We’re discussing polyamory and the integrity inherent in honour. It’s still decided that I’m not poly, which amuses me because damned well everyone else is. Sometimes I feel like a bastion of olde world sensibility dancing to a tune no one’s heard of. It’s thought that sensibility will see me through, as apparently I’m intelligent enough to be trustworthy? It’s a good afternoon conversation, if we were talking in person, we would be lounging together somewhere with hot chocolate. He’s thin, but wonderful to lean into. I’m suspicious of compliments, I tell him, and he laughs. I’m brave, he tells me, I walk into death without noticing. I don’t believe it because it’s built in. That he can give me examples makes my denial twitch. I’m a cat trying to brush something off my fur. Living anarchy streets with no wrong turns. It’s something new to integrate into my self view. I’m stuck against the wall, pinned by someone smarter than me. Actually, cancel that. I don’t need the image of being pinned against a wall by Brian. He’s slightly too svelte for that and my mind far too amused.
This is for mckenzee who has broken his arm at the elbow and has to take time off from being a photographer cable guy.
She took the shiny tab of the zipper and pulled it all the way up. My flesh went taut and to distract myself I studied the way her painted nails glittered sharp and tear shaped against her faux leather pants. “What were you expecting?” she asked, “Surgery is over. That was it.” Her hands had trespassed, forcing skin open, cutting with a scalpel the skin of my chest. I found something erotic in the way she sang with the knife. I imagined taking it and making her cry, but instead I only held myself still as she broke me open. I was scared, trembling, though yesterday I was calm, dreaming quietly of blue steel teeth. There will never be a chance of infection. Yesterday is far away now, this procedure is irrevocable, the flesh won’t knit back. I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be accessible. She looks bored as she helps me sit up. I adore her, I worship her. Now, finally, my lovers can touch my heart.