whatever the opposite of an ode is to the gender binary


being trapped in a body that’s amorphous feels like

the sting of reality that’s harsh on the tongue

a body drowning into quicksand

without a eulogy worth presenting

it feels like compartmentalizing feelings into

a cacophony of caprice and polychromatic reflections

or the desecration of a carcass used to rotting

after accepting shattered, fruitless intimacy

it’s enough to leave a person questioning

a symphony of prologues and epilogues and

wondering how to practice the art of drowning

without actually committing the act

existin’ in a body that’s amorphous feels like

being in the middle of heatwave coma season

with a broken ac and skin bursting open

like an overripe pomegranate and smiling

the body you’ve accepted heaving a sigh of relief

at the feeling of the sun you swallowed whole



and the sting of chlorine saturated eyes

and scorched honey limbs against leather seats

it feels like finding solace in the grip

of the soft, nimble fingers of your lover

and letting shallow breath mingle

with the rising of the sun