Cold to touch signals the skin; 

November 2025 (♐︎)

when i look up at space i long for another of me

myself remains latent into the stars

but i still feel her translucent signature through memory

when i learned of the solar system i knew;

i too burn myself to a pulp. and there are elements that rotate around me as my purpose is to die by blight

i forget the formula to the equation

but it never matters in space

fixated on my senses and my detachment from taste

i only understand math when my feet is deep into soil

as an entity on earth i must congratulate it

i remain so still as embrace, my essence coagulates and when i am removed by waste management services i leave a stain on the pavement

remnants of me

scattered us

which makes me remember

when i have sex i feel the timelines collapse

and i use it’s remnants once pieced together leftovers as a compass to discern and filtrate blessings

i think i deserve this

and not in a pillow princess way

but in a way the continued doesn't stop

and it overflows into me as progress seeps into optimism 

the overwhelm is subtle and distant but you see it nearing the horizon

permeating the heart

Like a moment approaching you

is it recognition or magnets reaching collision?

are we the same matter or do we just want to survive?

how do you quantify perception when there's no rhythm to decorate it?

i wonder this all during sex

how time disintegrates, fakes me out

i have the best sex with people who agree with all of me, validating my truth

i dissolve into their mouth and enter their blood stream and their brain and their lungs and grow from their toenails

integration

i loved a man so much because he always agreed with me

i was his only spine , i held him up like a hanger

and he was hot so i didn’t care i was flammable

because i enjoy keeping others warm

the crackling embers of my intestines digest sound and affection

do you hear my hunger vibrate?

i wanna go wherever this song is taking me

and i find myself in so many sheets thereafter

the fabric of time is 100 count silk

it cools at the absence of me

we slink and coalesce in the dressing of satin

this is what it must feels like to float in dense emptied-space

i soak up depression in the crevice of my own sheets

my doubts becomes gravitized, like that of a black hole

i wait for me here as an inward collapse

i am undergo allergic reaction and both jealously toward my brain

her neural network, the automation

the instant collaborations which i only get during sex

i enjoy the moments where i feel indeed machine

my most erotic debut

desire links onto me. i collapse an outward

like operation i want my lovers to untangle my wires and string me up like tapestry

pull from my throat like a magician

pin saliva drenched rope on walls like its a ritualistic flipping of the monthly calendar

i want to be anticipated

the magic trick is to look at me

all thats pulled

hold the gaze like i hold my own cold hands

admire me/your work

my processing time and vulnerability is always updating

be impressed with my features