the bodies streak together; boy-chested & soft-stomached, all of them, like young apples bruised and sweet in the dirt. in the city park, a basement couch, a blue bed: i think i'm a dog in love with digging the same hole. again & again, the savior complex, the way i knew something about his body before ever touching it. the smell of his heart. kiss an overripe peach, too much teeth: he grips my throat without asking. i love him already. i've loved him already. i lean back drunk against every warning sign. y'know, i think a little blood is sexy—& what's til july, what's til july, what's til july.
