The facility had been abandoned for years.That's what the records said, anyway. What the records didn't say was that "abandoned" meant "left to rot" and "years" meant "long enough for everything to stop working except the things that shouldn't still ...
Read MoreThe station had been her body for three centuries.Every corridor, every chamber, every flickering light and humming engine, all of it was her. She felt the footsteps of the crew like a heartbeat. She heard their conversations like whispers in her own mind. She knew them, every one of them, better...
Read MoreWe do not fitthe way bodies are supposed to fit.We are not neat.Not tidy.Not the kind of lovethat fits in greeting cards.We are messy.We are hungry.We are the kind of wantthat leaves marks.I have bitten youand been sorryand done it againbecause the sound you madewas worth the guilt.I have held yo...
Read MoreI keep a map of youon the inside of my skin.Here,the curve of my neckwhere your mouth first landedand I understoodwhat hunger meant.Here,my wristwhere your thumb pressedcounting my pulselike you were memorisingthe rhythm of me.Here,my hipwhere your fingers dug inwhen you lost yourselfinside meand...
Read MoreI have been trying to write this poemfor as long as I've known you.Every word feels too small.Every line feels like a lie.But here is the truth:When I say I want you,I mean I want the weight of youpressing me into the mattress.I mean I want the sound you makewhen I find the exact right place....
Read MoreI spent years learning to be alone.Built walls out of goodbyes.Learned the architecture of leavingbefore anyone could leave me first.Then you arrivedand everything I knewbecame useless.Your hands are undoers.They unbutton my defencesunlace my fearsunmake the careful personI spent decades becoming...
Read MoreThere is a mathematics to the wayyou fit against me,the curve of your shoulderfinding the hollow of my chest,the angle of your hipsolving for the space between my thighs.We are a theoremI want to proveagain and again.I have counted the freckles on your backlike constellations.I have traced the li...
Read MoreI have learned you the way hands learn clayfirst hesitant, then certain,then unable to forget.Your throat remembers the shape of my mouth.Your wrists remember the weight of my grip.Your hips remember a rhythmthat has no name in any languageexcept ours.I have watched you sleepand counted the ways ...
Read MoreThe apartment had always felt big enough for two.Eight hundred square feet in a walk-up with no elevator, one bathroom, a kitchen that couldn't accommodate two people cooking at once. They'd made it work for three years, Gary and Darren, best friends, completely platonic, utterly comforta...
Read MoreThe commission came through his agent like everything else—sanitised, professional, stripped of any personal touch.Charity portrait auction. High-profile artist. Three sessions. Sign here.Griffin signed. He always signed. That was his life: signing things, showing up places, being the perso...
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