If we die, it will be laughing
hard enough to suffocate
or fall off chairs, crack
open our skulls --
I want to lose everything
steeped in your joy.
No, I want to contain
each extreme simul
taneous, then feel
nothing. Tell me obscene
jokes & desires. Whatever
you want me I already
am, soaked in milk or
cerebral fluid. Maybe
for a moment we can live
& then finally be empty.
**This poem was a part of my Love Poems project, which I wrote about in my Field Notes Series and you can read on Medium. I will be posting more of the Love Poems here on Vocal as well.**
About the Creator
Joe Nasta
Hi! I'm a queer multimodal artist writing love poems in Seattle, one half of the art and poetry collective Eat Yr Manhood, and head curator of Stone Pacific Zine. Work in The Rumpus, Occulum, Peach Mag, dream boy book club, and others. :P
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Easy to read and follow
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Praying on the weak
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. It showed my lonely chambers, in the back of a cold church. It showed Alby Duncan and his daughter, Lucy, standing behind me. Alby had been a member of my flock so long that I remember Lucy being born. 19 years ago that was. It was always a delight to see them. Lucy smiled at me in the mirror. “Hello, Father Morris,” she says.
By Shane Dobbie3 days ago in Fiction
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