Tess and Friends Try On Selves Like Swimsuits by Dia Roth

Apr 27, 2020

Content warning: sexual content


We try on bodies—like them, long
for them—then try others. Somewhere
between hunger and earnest thirst,
we shapeshift.

Sip cum let a dog lick the inside
of our mouth inhale smoke and don’t drift away.
Only a meager howl when the ache returns:
we wish for wolfishness.

Sink teeth to hairy flesh swum in blood,
we swallow. Finally find the sound we need,
split borrowed trousers too
tight for our matted mass.

Slurp oysters, devolve to a
bi-valve, can’t think—
but they say our muscles
know danger. So we rest

on submerged rock, dream
of open floral button downs
and leather gun holsters
chafing moist underarms. Wake

to wind in our hide, make coffee
to cover the taste of rotting steak and saltwater.
Let lovers feed on udders till they’re full, and
settle in our sour folds.

We rub paws over flat skin,
chest hair, new bits in private. Float
in mirrors and masturbate
with both hands. Play pool party

chicken till we become one,
roasted on a spit for dinner or
the joy of hot coals
on our sloughed and sticky skin.

We fuck them, become them,
then fuck them as them. Pause
to grasp abundance and relish
our deep relief.

Thirst never quite quenched
we find selves in others’
fluid flesh, shed skins, grow
hair, drink up, drink up.

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