QUEER ODOR ▽*

the product of forcing myself to write for 5 minutes without stopping:

my lover would be my height and my lover would wear clothes that fit their body. my lover would cry during documentaries just to spit fuck this shit the next moment. my lover would hold my cervix like a pandora’s box - accidentally made to accidentally explode. and my lover would kiss my gender and hold my sex - be my sex - love my sex - sex me. my lover would wrap bandannas around my body when I fail to be flesh. my lover would take paisley printed words and embroider them into my back. my lover would pierce me and sing to me. my lover would hold me. my lover would sacrifice some of their own to survive with me - as I would for them. and the conjugation of my lover would embrace the plasmids of my shy eyes o transform my world - a transduction so strong that it’s potent enough to send me to the end. but my lover would be my resistance - pull me back - absorb me. my lover would embody me, not as an extension of their own identity but as a complement to who they are. and my lover would be tall…