mind your head.

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I’m still caught      tangled up in your clavicle leaned back amongst the pillows, you sprawled over me fingers careful in your hair, tongue on your neck         and your gasps in my ear we haven’t discussed what we want, where we’re going I’m still caught in part, part of me couldn’t go anywhere whoops.

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ask me for              support this hurts.     everything                      hurts. I'm too numb to feel pain right now but when I surface I can see it coming everything hurts.

and I don't trust like I did. and I've never had patience for the behavior you     spit angrily when I'm not there.        when sympathetic ears bend to your will, and your will is the most twisted. when I       stood for you. up for you. and then I learned you take up space, speaking loudly until you're all we can hear but you stand for so little. you say you stand for so much.     you say you say

               and it's not picking sides                you scramble, overturned. you're a     mess                and I can't believe I never saw it.

I hurt. I hurt and you hurt and you want to hurt back. you hurl pain like it's going to bring you some sort of      relief                       all I see thrown into relief is                   the judicial system.                       you're a lie when you speak, now. aim no more true than your fine-tuned speech when fury breaks through and you "have me" and it's anyone's fault but yours.

and my systems of support make themselves known?

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I got on a bus, walked half a mile  to the house. sat  uncomfortably wedged between one woman and a couch drank a bit, and heard       the one woman I had been flirting with on the phone tell the room     she couldn't see herself ending up with a girl. and suddenly, I couldn't see myself ending up on her mouth. and I tried to stay the night, but another hour in and I needed to leave, so I took a long walk all the way home and returned to my house where anyone of us could end up with a girl or two of our number with a guy, or any of us with someone who didn't live by those rules, or someone who lived by any number of them, or no one at all (no, not that last one, someone would be upset)  and we would all see it: everyone of us

and I just want someone to see being with me someone who thinks being with girls is a way to end up,  thinks of them the way I do like one of those hope chests you just hold too many possibilities in for long enough that they can hold me and  mean it. 

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<3

if I could monogamous love for anyone, long-term please know, I'd do it for you. I would.

I'm not there now. I can't keep it together for anyone, and I know better than to force myself.

and I love you and the closest I can get right now to relationship and still be happy is four days poly-style before someone moves across the country and if she hadn't been on her way out I know I couldn't have done it

for now, when I love it's not that, and there's so much I haven't figured out on my own yet, for myself.

I'm working on it. I am. but I can't be there for you as you want me to be, and still care for myself. know you deserve someone who can be there. know I can't. and you're so, so lovely. know you're lovely.

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what if I called you activity partner. It's what we do: we're active, our words saying the most when your head tilts back, lips part, and f...f...fuck is all that spills out as my hand  t r a c e s  your hipbone, spiders       out along your lower back.      elsewhere, we have little to say:      your friends and you and I go to      expensive restaurants you tell me I'll like, they talk      about people I don't know, don't care to      and I can tell when your mind turns to sex      but I'm still there, still   bored.      your politics are mine only sometimes,      but we interact with them differently and      our conversations stutter-step, brushing      only briefly over queer, over trauma      you tell me of your exes, I tell you how much I like your small boobs and the way you      rise and fall     to meet my hand and you can't seem to get me off, not entirely, but it    doesn't matter                                 not when you bite me hard I can't                                 seem to catch my breath, when you tongue                                 your way down and I                                 lose myself for a moment and you make that breathy noise as you're waking that you always make when my tongue spans the outer ridge of your ear, waking those tender spots right above your ass so you rise up at the hips, tell me where you touch the sheets feels like it's                                                       on fire you wake to tell me of your sex dream, the two of us backseat in a moving car where I fucked you, and you pretend you're      not so turned on that you can't      talk to me about other things and twenty minutes later, you're writhing, whispering, fuck followed by my name, for the first time & it feels so good to hear that to hear harder, deeper fuck me fuck me now

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go on.

it's nearing         that time of year again. my head fills with contradictions, wants to  sit with them. wants to build on them. I can't stand it, I know this.  I leave.  and I don't fit again. not really. not      quite. want to run but         my legs, feet won't hold me. want to learn but         no one tells me where to        go. I can't, won't listen and I know I'll find it. I'll figure it out I just don't want to sit with this. I want to  be held, and         touch me. want to be tied. but in control. want to get you going, running, and then       I want you to       want me.  truly me. want me, entire.  I want to tell you but I           can't.

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“this isn’t true -               but I want her back.” I pretend it’s the easy way out. none of this is easy but when you can’t stop - that love ly certainty is all you have. and some things, you can’t fix

and tomorrow - no.        today. today       I will do things I can’t regret            not because they will all be right but because I can’t regret. like it’s a failing, I tell myself I’ll learn from my mistakes,      I break.         I break all these things and      fake clarity.           look, I know      what I’m doing.    I speak      loudly.                  when I                                   act        tomorrow, I will                                                touch you. I won’t regret it                                                because I listen when you                                                fall away and are uncertain. I                                                bring certainty because you let me -                                                suggested you might be interested and                                         if you’re                                         not I’ll leave. I’ll

stop.

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"this isn't true - but I want her back." I don't have your lived experience when my world falls apart, it centers on something else. I can't stop. I feel uncomfortable and I talk over it. I want that to not be the case I want to not have to fix things because I end up wrong

some things, you can't fix I pretend it's the easy way out. for me it's the only way. easy - right easy. none of this is easy but when you can't stop it's - I can't put a name to so many things right now learning to step forward and right out of my comfort zone as though that's comfort. discomfort. I chase discomfort, I can't stop

tomorrow, no. today. today I will do things I can't regret not because they will all be right but because I can't regret. like it's a failing, I tell myself I'll learn from my mistakes, I break. I break all these things and fake clarity. look, I know what I'm doing. I speak loudly. when did I lose the ability to listen, gain the ability to act. tomorrow, I will touch you. I won't regret it because I listen when you fall away and are uncertain I bring certainty because you told me - suggested you might be interested and if you're not I'll leave. I'll stop.

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I work myself up. You didn't stay last night; you came up when you lost interest in the conversation downstairs. You watched me in black sports bra blue pajama pants as I prepared myself for sleep. You spoke with me but more than that it seemed you watched. I curled myself up as best I am able and you wrapped yourself around me, spoke to me softly and then you stopped, but your fingers still traced my skin and with that I couldn't fall asleep. Couldn't. You kissed me on the head and I kissed you on the mouth and then you left, turned out the light and pulled the door behind you and it didn't latch. Elsewhere, people die of seemingly natural causes and communities close in. Love. My past lover upsets and spills, can't move. I notice she checks on me - I think - and I wonder how she feels now, about me. I wonder why she hurt as she did. Why she shut me out. Why I didn't leave sooner.

And I work myself, and up. Face buried in blankets, and I don't think. I don't. Last night, she returned to me again and again, as I leaned into you and you into me: she grabbed on to me, pulled herself close. Pulled you close, as afterthought. Left and I called it - she'd be back in fivetotenminutes. Golden curls and dark rimmed glasses and the way she holds to people. Holds to people like she can convince them to do to her, to do for themselves whatever it is they already want. And then she returns before ten minutes are up and grabs me again. And up.

I push myself forward, steady not stopping reach and fall into blankets. There is pain but it does not feel like mine and I sit with it. Now I want to know - do you burn?

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things I'm trying to reconcile -

you don't know what you want           I want you I might do this wrong           you tell me to try. somewhere along the way I'm going to make you           uncomfortable you can't do what I want           I want you, entire. I want you to speak, to know yourself you want me          my clothing off, I stretch before you. writhe. want you to know me. want            you to try me. want you to reach inside me, feel for me. I'm there, though           my body catches I might want you          truth. it spills when we least expect it. I want it to spill from you. I want             to spill from you. more than that, I want truth. spill me I want to lead          hard while broken, more difficult when you cannot follow as I falter. I             falter when I do not know where you would like to go. I do not know          where to lead you you tell me it's good         and it also feels wrong. dysphoria - I know the word, use it. I see your            face, feel you tremble. somewhere between you and I, you are made         uncomfortable. I want to know you         spread before you, I wait for you to know yourself. I hope it will be           enough.  I know you've not done this before, but here you are and I listen

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Connect

I try at least for some connection. When I call, she comes.          Yet she does not call, does not                                initiate, and I find more comfort in possibilities drawn by someone else - sketched. Uncertainties, but        interest.            Spoken, solid interest, something I can          lean on, whereas here, I yearn towards her body on the couch and she                                at the far end                  stays, but does not                  seem to reciprocate. And I fall if I lean -           I want so much to lean. For her, conflict      catches at difference in ages. She laughs at old and then brings it up       again. I call fault at spaces when we        lose common ground                    altogether, we lose ground                    I feel we've not yet gained.                         When I reached for her hand,              we held at fingertips. It could have been                   natural. It was unsure. We were so ready                   to drop.    As she and I keep       distance -    neither of us willing to invest in        distance - distance too much familiarity.       The way this keeps. It's                        nothing. It's not a thing. It's - She has initiated out loud, before.                                         Quietly. I                                         want some common ground. I want                                         to stop losing. I want -                Connection. Open conversation. If we lose, I move on.                Disconnect. She is             so nice, but I want to ask             so much do we connect?

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stubble, dancing

imbibed inhibitors at this time of night do nothing to censure thoughts that are pouring pouring        pouring pouring loose. they trip they stumble they can't keep hold without defining themselves. simplified: you saw stubble. her cheeks so smooth before seemed then artificially so. and you close your eyes now, remembering. what would that change? eyes still closed you can't tell. could you if they were open? no. shift would make no sense given information you've gathered quietly, stolen away, pretend others have means when you don't, own motivations but look. you danced with her and before that, found her attractive. name-dropped in the way you do when you define yourself in ways your hair does not just yet. hello have my name I do gay things. I am gay. things I do: name drop. let me tell you                                d r i p I find you attractive. no. let me      show you. surrounded by faces I can't pick you out from the crowd beyond try to impress you with look, I know these names let me               d r o p them. you have lap, I have tripping tongue. you, lap and you catch but tongue of yours spills truths, maybe. you can say words I can't find when surrounded by these faces I wanted to drop you amongst. you say: I knew there was a reason I liked you I say look let me care for everyone polite to you, polite to all: let me care for you in this way: safer. not more honest: more honest would be: I fear I fear the effect you might have on me. I type this now with eyes closed, the words might make more sense     l a t e r  when not lost in inebriation but not to say I did not know them before typing them now. I     know I fear the chances changes threats you might offer. challenges I want to know you when not surrounded by faces I want to tell you want to listen want to you let me copy, cut paste I you with the stubble I want to dance want to feel the effortless pull across floor once more it ended so badly when last I followed step I want to initiate but ask you to lead I confuse you, no doubt but no more than I confuse myself both lost I think maybe

my ankle, voice catches but sometime let us dance I want to learn from you. With you I want to take my fear

take it dancing.

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let it go

we've still not talked. I know you had trouble meeting my eyes when I wanted so much to be held still, I wanted all words - with title. your absence, drawn out you didn't speak, made me not comfortable. I told myself, valid enough; I didn't have to like it. didn't have to stay. I just had to tell you. I did. chose my words like lenses, like tenses, like I'd done it before but I hadn't. tense - yes. I was articulating, you were nervous. it flowed over and I would have helped you catch it but you still couldn't meet my eyes I couldn't hold still they told me you found her. the girl in the mask. you'd look good I could see it but I won't let myself. when you couldn't tell me, I dropped my gaze. your words confuse me; I told you that much. disregarded, I care less for your company but still trip up at the sight of short red hair, sound of tense laughter. you're not gone now, but I've chosen to breathe.

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I'm not worried. Not really, this time.

This evening I pulled out the post - stuck in when she and I separated, it still hadn't seen daylight - and washed it clean, peered at the hole left behind. It was small. There was a bump, but smaller than the one encircling the hole above it. I've taken care of this one, been responsible. I know more now.

When clean, it all but disappeared. It did not concern me then, really. When pushed, the post slid back in neatly. No struggle.

These things take time, but they heal. They do. And what was painful before is now decoration: having taken it up with my skin, the mutual decision is that it looks fine. Settled. No better than before, no worse. Simply different, and we've agreed to like it. We plan for one more, time to be decided at later date.

I've yet to hear back from you, and I'm not concerned. Not yet. Not really. Your attention flattering, I'm not yet stuck. I've learned to remove post, slide back in cleanly. At mutual decision, skin and I find relationships frightening, a bit. Concerning. If this one's worth it I'll hear back.

I think I'll leave the hole alone again.

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Oh Friday.

This night composed in terms of soaking away the week and disentrenching whatever has clung to me these past few days. I raise my head to catch the eye of reflections in the window: there the girl is most prominent in shadows caused by collarbones, in red lipstick, in pale skin, in           not being clothed.

Tomorrow I will be where you are and I don't know what that means. You and your attractive have me somewhat           caught up                 but I can't catch what it is, what happens here when you kiss me unexpectedly, and only before you disappear quickly.

Wait come back it's nice and I want to maybe try it again but linger longer next time would you?

Perhaps next time I'll kiss you and then I'll know what to say.

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she falters, and I know now the stretching of that smile does not      cover      

         for mistakes, she finds          in reflection she's somehow

              lacking - but I       know better, and               when my eyes meet hers         I melt

she does not know this, could not as my heartbeat cannot be heard     from

      across the room, just as       my arms do not reach      so far but

              my voice betrays me I fear when I tell her          you are lovely; stop.

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This, twice:           your lips on mine           no time to respond    before you're leaving, quickly, and I - wait. that was - I enjoyed - come back - gone. In this I find not habit, not yet but you intrigue me, I'm drawn in, you're delightful. It's disconcerting when so suddenly you go.

Don't let this be fleeting. I so enjoy the contact and the sharp medicinal chapstick taste your lips leave on mine.