last nite

a beautiful brown boi fell asleep on my couch.

they also threw a tantrum while sleeping, woke up, still technically asleep and then went to sleep for real for real before the witching hour.

 the oven was set to 450 degrees in the middle of a heat wave for the love of french fries.

 a plan was set in motion to uncover the secrets of queerness and futurism forever and turn it into a staged production.

the cashier at trader joe’s asked for my id. her boss wished me happy birthday.

i almost hugged her.

during talks of the sirens that have our hearts, the wind blew hard in the trees over our heads.

so hard that our conversations paused and the women we love washed over us.

added garlic and herbs to french fries, died of foodgasm, came back to life twice.

printed out a short story that isn’t ready for the light or the day which means it’s ready to be thrown into the ocean.

i will dive deep.

the dream to be butch mamas or loverboi papas is strong and real. the wonder why our dreams aren’t supported and protected cuts deep into guts which makes them so easy to spill.

put clean sheet over gently used couch to protect the skin of a boi who is also chosen family.

prayed to Lady Marmalade and La Virgen for wisdom and better dance moves.

debated love debate love debated love love love fight for love know love be loved debate debate debate

we flipped white privilege on its head and dissected tumors of oppression and brutality.

realized we both have extremely small and needy bladders.

put Sweet Action in the freezer. put Sweet Action across my lips and tongue,

down into a belly waiting for a different kind of warmth.

read a text from the most gentle human.

it started with “sweet baby love” and ended with “mi amorcita.”

i am convinced that this is the only language loverbois need.

cold shower cold shower cool off limbs hotter than a two dollar pistol.

recreated Harry Potter from the POV of POC who were unimpressed with some white boy’s rule-breaking bullshit at their prestigious school of magic, who sipped tea the whole time knowing that if they had pulled even half the crap HP had their asses woulda landed in Azkaban so fast there wouldn’t have been time to write even one book let alone 7.

spent 45 minutes writing alongside each other in silence with room for stupid jokes and queer modeling contracts.

remembered why it’s so important to spend intentional time with friends who hold pieces of my humanity in the palm of their hands for safekeeping.

remembered that i am worthy of safekeeping.


3 thoughts on “last nite

  1. gratitude for your existence, sweet Writer. For your ability to find all the aromas of words throughout your day. And for your post (the kind that gets a stamp).

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s