I Want to Be Undone

Written by Harley, one of our poetry writers, and edited by Seb and Greg, two of our editors!

I wondered about

the man you were going to take in your

mouth.

Yes, I saw you,

when we were on my

bed

one hand dancing through the

wheat fields of my

hair

the other

scrolls idly through

Grindr.

The word “tradition”

fills my mouth with

bile

You sing the words

like a dead man

at the pulpit

I so desperately want to pry your mouth open.

6’5. 9.5 inches.

a fucking bottom.

tradition was never

meant for crooked souls

we see in the mirror

It was always

so easy to imagine

our immolation.

The way I can easily see a

match fly into the white picket fence

on a Saturday morning.

We’d build a house knowing it won’t last

our charred corpses

embracing even in death

The man you love instead of me

will leave us to

die.

i knew hunger the most

when you left me to

die

I’ll stop writing about death, Al. I am wrong often.

One day, I’ll stop writing about death, Al. I am wrong often. The picture I see so clearly is us at the foot of my bed. My socked feet rest against your bare feet. I think about your chest hair and how it is enough to envelop us both. It’s buried in my heart somewhere but… I don’t have to go. I’ll pluck my gray hairs until the color seeps into the floor. You don’t have to go anywhere. I want to show you this incredible thing we can do with our

stillness.

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This piece was written by one of our poetry columnists, Harley. Reach him at @ha.rleyn, on Instagram!

This piece was edited by one of our editors, Greg. Reach him at @gtomaini on Instagram!

This piece was edited by one of our former editors, Seb. Reach him at @sebpetroni on Instagram!

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