In our most difficult shoes
we reneg all our attempts
to eradicate gender borders.
A lisp's magnetism makes
it much easier to cross space
in my edible skin suit
& her hair. Her hair. In sex wars
it's grinding time we're up against.
We bleed attention
and feed the water.
I'm singular. We're single.
I compose odes to my gold sandals.
We are a little black hole mouth
feeding across the face of the city.
These simulations
stimulate us, creatures
become men during the dance.
Set up opposing postures,
drink out this heat into night.
Back home, I take off my bangles,
dip myself into the speed of sleep.
I am littered with impressions
I trace internally, as they fade
smooth, rested, plump,
the loud marks of femininity
wipe clean away.
