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