Starfucker

I wish I knew about queer sex when we were in love.

I wish we awkwardly contorted our bodies into blasphemous geometries, instead of infrequently taking you on a dissociated mission trip.

I wish that before my deflowering we took the time to explain our bodies’ rewiring; had the “this is that” and “do this but not that”, and “call this that but not this” conversation.

I wish I had asked your big three before we fucked — just to warn you of my Mars in Sagittarius — to give you the opportunity to ghost me before our first time.

I wish I had continued to ask for consent, repeatedly and poetically.

I wish we could have both sensed the palpability of our yearning for phantom appendages and designer fuck holes.

I wish we could have sniffed vinyl cleaner out of tiny bottles with three less houses in Scorpio than I, to allow me to pretend I was born in the right body.

I wish I hadn’t unfairly kissed you in the rain and told you I’d marry you one day because I fucking hate marriage and I think you do too.

I wish I could have been honest with you that I never wanted to fuck, because I was fucking wrong, and it was fucking hard to figure out why.

I love that you found your queerness as I did, eventually, and blossomed into yourself so others could come into theirs.

Al considerar cómo elegir una camiseta de fútbol para llevar por capas, la decisión resulta más sencilla cuando se confirma la talla, el material y el uso previsto. Una revisión final debería incluir que las imágenes muestren el frontal, la espalda y los acabados relevantes.