Explore
Gender & Sexualityexpand_moreMafia didn’t like me, except for the tickling game. It went like this.
“I hope the scumbag rots in jail,” he yelled into the quiet night.
The moment in your drunk when you become rich! A connoisseur.
We were in a play about affection. We were in a play about sex.
My friend Angela, who is also my roommate, got me into stripping.
After nearly a year of dating, I never stopped thinking of that other boy.
Never issue a dare to a dead person. They’ve got all the time in the world.
If mine, then, is a religious Offence, leave it to religious Punishments.
This would not be a wooing meal. I was cooking my man into submission.
Taller than most women, Sojourner Truth seemed to rise a little higher.
Her bra is black, her breasts full and white. There is too much flesh.
Never mind the gossip of the world. Don’t have it, yet have it!
The three of us share a myth, that I’m fragile as old bones. My parents speak in low voices—about me, I’m pretty sure. I watch the waitress, trying to remember how to flirt. I take off my mask.
Spanish men. They whispered and whistled. It made her jumpy.
Euclid stands in front of his lover’s door, open to the last hours of light.
Our ambition was a clawing, grasping thing. It got us out of bed.
Men are so delicate, must be given many portals. I try to be game.
My brother stealing all the lightbulbs, my parents live without light.
If life was exchanged, who is to say it flowed one way?
I tell my sister what I didn’t tell my father, I love you. Please, don’t die.
Everyone they pass is consumed by some desperate interior story.
Writing to you is like putting a note in a bottle, hoping it will reach Japan.
When she gets to Lenny’s he offers her a beer and a bong hit...
“I don’t care how tired we are. I’m not not having sex on my wedding night.”
How do you beat a man who refuses to rise from a puddle of his own blood.
References to and portrayals of hypocrisy, moral sloth, venery.
A boy in a dress vanishes beneath the sound of his own galloping.
Who needs driftwood when I can bury myself in your loamy soil.
My love swims you, your shoulders like hard sails under the green curls.
