Choke
we eat the same words
the t’s of each stick
my throat like epicentralia
older than words you must
have chewed your share
to softness
but when I say I am full
more bend loose and when
I insist I really can’t
take any more there are
still more curving into
the mass of words crunching
the delicate spiny nest
we have loomed in my throat
each click a note of uneven melody
I breathe between but when
your rhythm intensifies
my stomach convulses
and when I swell to birthing
the result of our blessed union
you know there is space for more
the m’s of each morsel
descending my gullet like prayers
my mother taught me to keep
secret thoughts when curled
into
an s
Sir, Yes Sir
Beyond that basement off 85th where you learned the radian your jaw could achieve, if you forget correct address, I will permit it. In the bruise before dawn, we will walk blocks with signs where red means stop, concrete is not wet with sour aftermath, rules for you are not scaffolding you climb deciding to be or not to at the top or the bottom of the pile or the stairs. | What would you do to me if I forget, would you test the limits of my joints, my rigid desire solidified for a moment, until it wasn’t and it was something else? Had we met when our concrete was still wet you’d have written in it with your crop, here. I guess I’ve always preferred the concrete smooth, cool to the cheek when ass up and waiting |
Sir | What would you want to do? To me? |
[ * ] | blush blue the knobby parts of me sand me smooth cream stone temple not my body’s but yours rend where I open and close at the mouth totally impenetrable, yet gaping as in yes, as in please, as in now please daddy, I will be your golden throated boy lark, swallow, swan song |
If you forget correct address I will forgive you. My belt will not cross your back beyond the saltire. My kindness that lifts your ache of lack, of blue vinyl refusing to stretch for breath you need | but Sir you must remember my lack isn’t some cavern for you to fill. Kindness is what allows you to knuckle muscles supple. Your ache is my pleasure to suspend violet moans don’t ever forget |
Serenade
pinot smeared smooches, old grape skin lips cinched, the funk of long
office days, suit pants on Thursday from laundry Sunday
and even digestion is a 20-hour process
How have you not heard? Modern Poly like mid-century furniture
upholstered in synthetic fabrics berber oak, dark
cherry marble lucite “the modern poly” collection
for bachelors in need of easy clean parties and skin friendly
for couples in between kids’ bedtime daddies’ playtime
getting buffed when you rub against it you hear that gay men
only want dick and ass punch and nylons On Saturday I went shopping
and a Quad said We’re an attempt to overthrow capitalism
and patriarchy but they never texted me back
they missed my video call from the stall that punk bar where the DJ
dropped bass on my balls until I came and I loved it
vodka drunk and undressed, slippery paper limbs fluttering
atop the stomp, thinking about buying slate Plexiglass grey suede
microfiber that beads when doused when modern poly
tests chemistry and alchemy and water
changes forms between us without the aid of light
Modern Poly might make wine stains
see through but men remain late century, fluttering
limbs flexing, buffed curated versions of themselves
uploaded and coded upholstered in religious habits
from Sunday after Saturday spent heels to heaven
a 2-hour process Have you not heard? Poly is modern
is seamless, scentless an attempt to topple how we’ve been told
men should be interested in it when we feel it
a velvet sectional without pillows
Tyler French is a writer, organizer, and public humanist living in Washington, D.C. He works in the arts and cultural non-profit world and writes about the arts and equitable community development. He is a co-creator and baker for Queer Cookies, a poetry series and bake sale supporting queer-identified poets. He has poems in Assaracus: A Journal of Gay Poetry, Beech Street Review, and Split This Rock. See more of his work at tylerhfrench.com. Ben Kline lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, writing poems and telling stories, drinking more coffee than might seem wise. His chapbook SAGITTARIUS A* will be published in 2020 by Sibling Rivalry Press. His work is forthcoming or has recently appeared in The Cortland Review, DIAGRAM, My Loves: a Digital Anthology of Queer Love Poems, Okay Donkey, Theta Wave, Screen Door Review, Homology Lit, Pidgeonholes, Impossible Archetype and many more. You can read more at https://benklineonline.wordpress.com/.