Your sexual preference is the strand of spider web across my eyes this morning, Annoyed, I swipe it away; it is perfect and persistent; it laughs at my effort, yet doesn’t let go. My wanting you is for what – I don’t know – as if new clothes would make me Somehow happier – more complete – as if a male outfit could dress me less like a pauper, More like the butch empress who shuns the requisite lesbian clothes Our time was not for naught but smacks of chocolate mints after dinner, you want one so badly especially after … Continue reading “Not on my lips anymore” by Elisabeth Horan