See all. Father, Mother, Son.
weight and wait.
where my high school best friend piles tithed hearts
in the pixelated hallow of her hands. She ascends
offerings — flat tummy tea, knee-length modesty, steamed
fruit flies suffocate
after i slip
flimsy white plastic
I stare at the ceiling
fan spinning, lazy,
my legs still shaking.
First was Neurotic Fake Woke Sadboi – nobody came and he refused to sell me weed when I wouldn’t have terrible sex with him again.