My baddie’s got sweat from the chin
groove to his throat latch, he’s got warmers
from his pastern to his gaskin.
Youth costs, and I’ve always kept up
on the price. When I turn eighteen the world
will be different in every way. Outside,
No lie, my tongue breaks down before a beautiful boy.
Poetic superpowers stripped, I return a plain-old boy:
neons & member number thirteen of my little
black book asks me what i find most important
Because I was in the ER. Because I was bitten by [ ]. Because I almost died. Because I drowned in makgeolli one July. Because the hanbok didn’t fit.
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now and at last / not a second too soon / this soft profusion / vellus giving over / to bristled glory / to suck with bottom lip /
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Harry calls me Lover so exclusively
it’s permeated my self-talk: Lover, The Eudemian
Ethics won’t read itself. Lover, just enjoy
the unseasonable warmth. But enough about lovers!
baby girl, you’re full of shit. you just met him, but
the elder who sells crystals from a cart on the corner remembers when you were still young enough
to cut your teeth on the taut edge of being alive.