“have you ever made love to your story?”

for Rebel: my mystical and magical inspiration. 

 

Ok, here I go.

“I built this. I made this body out of leaves and mountains and sriracha and bargained treasure from stoop sales. I climbed up onto this rooftop of curls and said notice my ukelele because music can be like universal health care when strummed with intention. I built this body out of literature and smut and the poetics of Dickinson and Gottlieb. A lot of Bukowski’s persistence and so much Gibran. This body has cracked open some bars built into the windows. This body is a high rise flambé of reconfigurations. I built this body from love. I found my fire through the border crosser whose lips were salted and revived me like flesh-covered defibrillator. There are muscles built from carrying myself over lacerated love affairs. What it means to be sectioned and partial like split apart mandarins. And there is a drip of skin that is bitter. And can I tell you the unabridged memory of my queer; I think I might need to be alone for this. How about this? I am unsure if this is a date. There is interest and beauty and I have so many questions. There is supper and napkin on lap and Malbec and later, coffee. There will be dessert when I am ready. I hold my hand and lick my mouth to remind my tongue that it can be sensual to the human it belongs to. I wonder if we will see each other again. I know that this has been tumultuous. I know all about the slashing and attempts of murder and mangle. How many second chances can we offer. What does peace really look like. What is its smell and can I purchase it through dedication to meditation, healthy eating and careful-construction of (self) confidence. I am raining. I am hurricane and flood. I am wound and weathered. I am drip of sad and grey and do you understand now when I call myself elephant. This body is attempting new ointments. This body is working on a works cited page, an annotated bibliography of how all this happened. This body is a natural disaster healing.”