feeling your sex in me
as your helplessness to me

and from this
a concord muse
an adherence with pulsations and additions

the unending feral
emergence of effeminate matrix

as identity
as how to identify with
 
 
—

that we are becoming
density without doubt
 
 
—

oh pubic chalice
being made public
 
 
—

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
—

then accuracies that come
as a spurting
only after such significant constancy
 
 
—

a polished wine glass
both before and after the wine gets poured in

you tie my arms and legs
apart
so that I am all

dividend

and you gaze into
this yield
that I choose

that I am subjected to

like the way the loose soil is marked
by the throbbing saturate
volley

from above it
 
 
—

oh melodic musculatures

how during that night
I dreamt
of multi-sexed crops
as a non-debatable pungency

neither wholly smooth
nor wholly rough

how I felt you as a gruff serum
as you peered into me
before peeling
 
 
j/j hastain loves to drink jasmine tea in the mornings and believes that fucking can be transcendental based on our embodiments.