Tag Archives: sex

White T-Shirt

my white t-shirt
was your white t-shirt
and I just pulled it
out of the drawer
it wasn’t buried
it was on top
freshly washed
because my white t-shirt
that used to be
your white t-shirt
has been through a lot
which makes it soft
and comfortable
and treasured
and it remembers
the parking lot
where it became mine
gifted to me
because it was something
worn close to your body
the way I couldn’t
be worn by you
and you knew
I needed something
to tide me over
something more
than a promise
you knew that t-shirt
was as close
as we would ever get






“Office at Night” by Edward Hopper, 1940






We are taught
it isn’t right to feel good
or satisfied
or clean
about parting.
About leaving the future
out of sex—
but I have enjoyed
the present of the now
the gift of nothing else
to look forward to—
just one night
spent without fear or hopes.
Just a few hours
where the only thing that lived
or breathed
or mattered
was his body
swollen like a wet sponge
over the blackboard of my life—
erasing everyone else
who made promises
impermanent as chalk
to make me believe
they’d still be here








“Summer Evening” by Edward Hopper, 1947


Our Mothers

Everything they told us was wrong.
Hold your stomach in.
Nod your head.
Respect yourself, they said —
by saying no.
By giving boys nothing but a smile
until they offered us
a finite circle made of gold.
They only want one thing, they told us.
And we believed
that the one thing they wanted
was somehow different
than the one thing we wanted too.
And because trust is involuntary
according to evolution,
we believed our mothers—
believed we were wrong
for wanting to sample
as many fruits as we could
before we agreed that only one
could possibly taste better
than all the rest—
for what was left
of our desirous and insatiable lives.


“Reine Lefebre and Margot before a Window” by Mary Cassat, 1902


After we met
there was so little time
we couldn’t help but give in
to the eloquence of language
and follow it
to the natural conclusion
of a hotel bedroom
where we gave each other
nothing we wished to take back.
And when we parted
there was a conspicuous
absence of sorrow—
a painless
almost joyful goodbye
without complication or tears.
No silly declaration of love
to muddy the future.
No trouble understanding
distance, borders, boundaries.
No confusion about silence
and how it would live between us
now that the sky has taken him—
along with the answers
to all the questions
I will never get to ask.










Morning Coffee

in hand
warms your lips
your tongue
your belly
your gut
filled only
with longing
with memories
of his body
next to yours
his body
his body
with love
that melts
when you close
your eyes
your eyes
that bleed tears
oh, how you wish
for another sip.


“Automat” by Edward Hopper, 1927

First Encounter Under the Tree of Knowledge

Adam must have wondered
what was happening to him—
must have felt a great emptiness
inside his whole and perfect body
when he woke from the unpleasant
and unexpected duplication
of his flesh and bone.
Imagine his shock
to see Eve naked beside him—
neither of them aware that her body
was built to receive his,
or to create the cause
of every single human heart
that would beat and love and die
and beat and love and die—
and Adam must have wondered
how Eve’s soft and delicate body
would smell and taste and feel
against his,
and you can imagine her curiosity
equal to his,
and her willingness to explore—
and we can believe with all our hearts
that after they discovered how
the puzzle of their bodies fit together
Adam would have sacrificed his rib
all over again
and Eve would agree to give birth
to a hundred billion children
who would blame and punish her
for wanting to know more
about all this beauty—
where it came from, and why.








I know exactly
how many of them
are out there
who would come
right now
if I called them
and they would happily
undress me
fuck me
with tenderness
and maybe even love me
but I am wasted
for another
for the one that ruined me
for the one that has never
had me
felt me
been close enough
to make me come
to my senses
and he is out there somewhere
like a cowboy
sleeping on the ground
wondering why in the world
I am so far away
and wondering
who it is
who gets to hold me tonight
and even though
I know exactly
how many men
are out there
who would come
right now
if I called them
the only one I want
is the one who knows
when to pull the trigger
and when to wait.





“The Parkman Outfit” by NC Wyeth