By Mario Incandenza
i. i asked her to cut off my finger standing at the entry way or was it exit watching her ride down the east london road perched atop a metallic bike rack foreheads touching i mumbled we entwined on the couch, Rod of Asclepius harmless snake or more cliche; serpent imploring to taste the fruit of knowledge was the snake satisfied having catalyzed the fall was eve made better gaze demanding she cut his finger save him from playlists encumbered by love songs mind consumed by alternative hypotheses naive expectations of a future apart her vacant stare past fabric stores creaky bike chirping flanked by chicken shops she cant or she wont ii. she did that stupid thing ive seen it in the movies while i helped her with her spreadsheet of all things she resting her body against mine as a lover leg delicately weighing non-attached is it her nakedness that consumes me? my romanticized crywank. my friend, ascribed meaning where there was none. im sad to know (youre leaving). and leaving me with the lovecraftian horrors. and our adventures on bikes threatening to fall apart. rattling down dirt paths and cobblestones. already i commemorate these in marble monoliths to future gods. we pause to think on time at south bank gallery. surrounded by wellcome and neon paint. love or in love; chaos limerence; chaos vagina crowds out my decision to love. reveals youth. which is why i cannot love. only be in love
This piece is from The Feminist Toilet #1. To go back and read more, click here.
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