I paid for my rent
With a generous tip
From a lonely airforce pilot

I try to grab a second
Like a moth
Only to clasp a volume of air

So stumped by her glance
I ask a quiet god if she’s trans
Yet he is deliberate in his silence
I can’t read her face
I can’t read any face
So I self-med myself asleep
Maybe she’s traumatised too?
I think…
I think…
We’ll never talk again


I draw lipstick on the face of god
While wishing you were my reflection
I look at my semеn
And feel sorry for it

Please
Wound me likе a surgeon
I can’t love anymore