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.