break down, fever thoughts spilling out of you, try/fail, love/hate, rinse/repeat
she kisses like she knows you
your bodies all too close
her lips a strawberry paradise
ducks move past you
you’re floating in the river now
a half lit cigarette as you called him up the stairs
he tastes like dove and fresh regrets
but his hands fall in all the right places,
sins left all over the floor
sailing out to sea
skin glistening in the sunlight for the last time
the water devours you like a delicacy, slowly fills your lungs
break down, fever thoughts spilling out of you, try/succeed, love/unconditional, rinse/repeat
Never trust anyone you can’t break the law with,
Nor a soul who’s never been heartbroken.
summer weather’s finally creeping up, balmy air sticking to the skin on morning walks down by the river,
and sunshine abound, driving the pepperoncinis, tomatoes, succulents all out on the balcony to stretch toward the sky.
it feels almost cinematic, each minute captured in slow-motion, humming in the kitchen, singing in the shower.
each notion about how the world works, hard-fought/deeply ingrained, refuted by a lesson.
29 springs before this that slowly turned into summer then autumn,
29 winters waiting for the cycle to repeat, les saisons.
It’s all a matter of perception, It’s all a feat of confidence,
It’s all a game, it could all be gone in an instant, so take a second to appreciate it.
after years spent roaming gardens, galleries, dive bars and billards halls,
a thousand cigarettes and secrets spilled in alleyways between us,
telling me exactly how much the world owes you,
recounting everything you’ve done to deserve what you have,
confessing your darkest sins,
proclaiming your innocence,
raving about your talents, hopes, dreams – disappointments.
I was your shoulder,
your brother, your blackhole.
You were my Brutus.
This isn’t the first time and it wouldn’t have been the last,
This isn’t the first time and what a drain to have to put your pieces back together again,
This isn’t the first time, but the difference is,
I’m wrapped in soul-encompassing love now,
so for all I care, you and the rest of your world can go straight to hell.
Wide open spaces, a thing I’d never known before,
Held court in cafés and nightclubs.
Took lovers in backseats in darkened alleyways,
And in tiny rooms, crammed full of books and secrets, and one too many half-smoked packs of cigarettes.
Now I have half the second floor to rattle around in and my soul love to keep warm at night,
Still I crave more wide open spaces.
Endless wilderness and deserts stretching far beyond the eye can see,
And the sea rushing in to mingle with sand beneath our feet.
I’ve swallowed ashes and spit blood for this,
(I let their words define me, let
fear guide each step, let the past haunt and the future consume my every thought),
I’ve died and been reborn for this.
Wide open spaces,
To grow up and grow old with you in.
I recently had the honor of appearing as a guest on not one, but two more LGBT podcasts: Strange Fruit (an NPR show brought to you by WFPL) and The Gay Files.
I am beyond thrilled to have been able to unpack serious topics like bi-erasure, racial prejudice in the queer community, and the fetishization of black bodies with Jaison Gardner and Dr. Kaila Story on Strange Fruit.
It was also a delight to discuss the peculiar life of Bavaria’s most famed (and arguably gay) royal, King Ludwig II, with Kiwis turned Londoners, David Blanco and Andrew Howatson of the Gay Files.
You can find and subscribe to each show by clicking the cover art below. Links to the my specific episodes can be found below as well.
Episode – ‘Pipeline’ Actors On Bringing Black Lives To The Stage
Episode – Case 7: King Ludwig
Earned this, countless bruises inside and outside to show for it.
Happiness wrapped in love, grounded in truth, stitched to the essence of your very being.
Fear is a stranger and trust sleeps at your side.
Tea cools on the balcony as soft dreams await, accept it –
Sparkling floors and no ceilings, quiet drives through the countryside on mini-vacations,
Singing and dancing after too much mezcal,
Kissing like teenagers
The smoky skies and endless nights of the city banished to a reliquary of
youthful indescretions, painful lessons, and fond memories to look back on.