When you think you know something
But you’re so fucking tired of this shit
Sinuses pulsing, channeling a rhythm both offbeat and harmonious
When you think you have a system
The genders and selves and longings can lean against this frame
You try to understand the smells as segregated: flowers/rain/spice/sweat/petrol
Then you let yourself forget.
Forget that ‘Gender and sexuality are completely separate concepts!’
Gasping organs, sighing fans
Whose power deems whose truth?
Lives lived without gender on the tongue
There’s enough gender in the air, pulsing
Lean back again, against this pulsing
Treat it as your buttress
Ease your seizing mind against her pillowy gender