This can't be dangerous

i lost myself over four years. the creeps peering at tiny

creatures in pleats. fat cell phones, sweaty palms, nails of

yellow, the soft rouge of cheek. brought to anointment by

a wet kiss. obscured through iron fence. rushing visions

of the purple necks of peacocks to plump and tender chest.

when I finally realized they had all left the table because of my

smell it was too late. corner the most poplar boy in the

athletic shed and ask him to prom.

i shaved my public hair to vanish the hardest years.

hot breath over zebra print bra on videotape. record over

grandpa's funeral. tongues and lips always wet and needy. he

found me on the Internet and I snuck out to meet him at dusk.

small bodies

slipping in his father's Mercedes truck.

To survive I would have to enjoy it.

He asked if I came.

I said in my own way.

I will tell you that one time a friend had sex with another friend

behind a wooden porch and threw the condom

wrapper at my nose. This cant be dangerous.

Source: Mall Brat (The Accomplices, 2016)