A Love Letter to My Breasts by Eloísa Pérez-Lozano

From barely-there buds to voluptuous curves

you have enjoyed the freedom of undershirts

before bouncing into Jockey training bras

and finally becoming familiar with

the metal smiles of underwire.

In college, at the peak of your perkiness,

You hid away under baggy t-shirts with

the rest of my rolls and freshman fifteen.

But I worked the weight off, blossoming

enjoying the fabric now hugging our figure.

But your time is ticking, my tender twins

Tightly bound and tumbling when I run

sagging au naturel after a growing baby

latched, suckled, and stroked you gently

the boobs on high balancing hefty hips.

O bountiful breasts, overflowing fatty tissue

sites of playful pleasure and essential sustenance:

Though gravity insists on your inevitable descent

I am grateful for your curves, your cushion

and the overwhelming world of sensation you bring.

---

Eloísa Pérez-Lozano (she/her) writes poems and essays about Mexican-American identity, women’s issues and motherhood. She graduated from Iowa State University with a B.S. in psychology and an M.S. in journalism and mass communications. A Best of the Net-nominated writer, her work has been featured in The Texas Observer, Houston Chronicle, Houston Public Media, and Poets Reading the News, among others. She lives with her family in Houston, Texas. She can be found on Instagram at @elodisneygirl and twitter @EloPoeta.

my sub

he feeds me rolls of twenties

sticky from his anxious fingers his eyes can’t land until i whip him with my tongue and then

so solid release carves him into a huMan

his nails curling around the toes of my socks the edges of his lips twitching and when he

texts me “sorry mistress” from the laundromat

i imagine him sitting in front of the machine that perpetual tear drop of a face

reflected in the undertow of the pay per use washer

&This is how he can pretend he is drowning in

my sudsy lingerie

---

Breton Lalama (they/he) is a queer, trans human who combines mediums to encourage sociopolitical dialogue and bring attention to the weird parts of everyday life. They really like tomato soup. In his work, they are currently excited by explorations of identity and multiplicity.

You can find their work in Harlot X Trans Sex Workers Zine, Feels Zine, Open Heart Forgery, Crush Zine, Saved By Sex Ed, Toho Journal. Breton is grateful to be part of Nightwood Theatre’s Write From The Hip cohort, 2020-2021.

Super Like

i want someone to wake up next to every morning

says a guy on tinder

i laugh so hard that i fall out of my bed

and tears fall out of my eyes

because

that was way too forward

jesus christ

and he says

oh my god i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to send that to you

and i continue to laugh

and block him immediately

a guy starts the conversation with

i want your babies

i want that dick

and i block him too

a guy starts with

i can teach you a thing or two about dating

and i say

wow that’s a way to flirt

he doesn’t respond

and two days later he says

wait so will you go out with me

a guy says

hey is that bread in your second picture?

i like bread too

we have so much in common

and proceeds to spam 

with sexual bread jokes

literally all day

at midnight he says

come over to my dorm and i’ll knead your dough

and i

continue to laugh

at all these other

lonely gay men

even though i am

a lonely gay man

myself

it’s been almost three (3)

years

since i last had a boyfriend

but i’m so tired of swiping

and talking to strangers

when i know the dates

never go anywhere

and i don’t really

talk to guys i like

anymore

and i laugh

at how these men

can be

way too forward

sometimes

i understand

the desperation

but that doesn’t mean

it’s not uncomfortable

and hilarious

to receive messages

like that

here i am

feeding my loneliness

with

strangers

that i don’t care about

sometimes i laugh

missing

something better

than this.

---

Mercury-Marvin Sunderland (he/him) is a transgender autistic gay man from Seattle with Borderline Personality Disorder. He currently attends the Evergreen State College and works for Headline Poetry & Press. He's been published by UC Riverside's Santa Ana River Review, UC Santa Barbara's Spectrum Literary Journal, and The New School's The Inquisitive Eater. His lifelong dream is to become the most banned author in human history. He's @Romangodmercury on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

A Reimagining of ‘A World's Wife’

These poems are inspired by and a play on the poetry of Carol Ann Duffy and published in her collection, “A World’s Wife.”

---

Hayley is an emerging writer and journalist who works hard to create work that is fiercely feminist, anti racist and anti oppression on a whole. You can check out more of her work and content on her instagram @hayley.headley

For My Valentine

I eat you in the morning.
All cream citrus and soft
You drip down my chin
Gratefully, I lick the spoon.

You are the tall glass
Of water, gulped
Down with fervor, eagerly
I wait to feel you inside me.

I taste you in strawberries
Small kisses, barely tart
Sweet clever playful girl
Forcing my lips to pucker

You are the apple,
the knowledge
That all things are temporary
Your taste and ripeness,

Priceless and fleeting.
I discover you,
The secret ingredient In chocolate, the
Secret that sparks
Orgasm and joy.

---

Cheryl Aguirre is an aspiring poet based in Austin, Texas. They pride themselves on their 7 living houseplants and unpublished poems. They are a recent college graduate and an active member of the Austin LGBTQ+ community. You can follow them at @drowsy_orchid on Instagram and @Wheat_Mistress on Twitter. 

Rough, Sugar, and Spellbound

Photo by Oleg Magni from Pexels

ROUGH

My thighs are made of marble,

And between them the cradle

The singing bowl,

of humanity.

Rosebuds and baby’s breath.

My stomach could be

The arid steppes, and sunshine,

Hungry hands, and desperate lips

Slip upward the side of my breasts,

Like mountains of sugar.

Melting into comfort at their peak,

The door to forever.

Inside me,

You finally reached the balmy jungle of my mouth.

You breathed that I;

Taste like blueberries.

SUGAR

That golden thread is eternal,

As it snaps in two,

Drops of honey.

Across and over your lips

I am a martyr for that mouth.

You are buzzing in my ears

All I can hear is you,

I am deafened.

I would crawl across this page,

To the place where what I want coils

To be crowned queen of your hive.

I want your teeth, bared.

Like I want them to rip, and snap, and tear.

Clean the sugar from my skin,

Honeycomb strings.

SPELLBOUND

I smell the magic on your skin,

Mixed with the musk of your perfume.

Your lips pull into a smile, sly, wet

A secret like rose petals.

Your eyes a circle of salt.

I hear the chant in the sway of your hips,

Calling, culling, the ritual of you.

I imagine you bathing in milk,

Wine pouring down your chin.

Black cat at your window, a whistle into the night.

You oil your breasts and sigh.

We are the witches of the past,

Naked in the woods.

We swim in the moonlight, the flames.

My lips, red as Bishop’s bodice, burn.

Bones, runes, witching cards, your collarbones,

A coven, a coven, you say

The alchemy of womankind.

---

Emalee Long is a linguistic anthropologist who works in the field of propaganda analysis, her passion is in poetry and her works have been published online at 86 Logic and The Showbear Family Circus, or in print at Milestones 2018. She lives and writes in Little Rock, Arkansas. Find her on Instagram @emaleave.me.alone

Beautiful by L.Cannon

Beautiful 

Making me look beautiful
Is like
Putting lipstick on a pig: 

Rouging up something
Fat and hairy,
While listening to
Its incessant squealing; 

Brushing out its
Coarse coat
Of bristles
And tying ribbons
Around its thick neck. 

And no runt am I,
Plump and portly:
A prize,
At over 200 lbs. 

I am porcine, not porcelain. 

No one wants to
Bring home this bacon,
Sweet and juicy
Though I am, 

All pink snout and
Raw skin,
Heavy with blood. 

You have audacity,
And I, depravity.
But I have teeth like yours. 

I am mud-slick and
Insatiable in
My cannibalistic troughing. 

Come near me and I will eat you alive. 

Sex me up and 

I’ll tramp you to death
With cloven foot—
I know men too
Fond of pigtails. 

Gilt or sow,
They’ll porker,
But criticize me
When I’m hogging. 

I feel it too—
This unnatural desire
To boil and shave myself
For your consumption; 

To bind myself tightly
In my own intestines,
My own skin,
Encased with entrails. 

Fear you my arms?
These fat, sausage links
Lined with dark hair,
Bigger than your own? 

You’d rather that stock
Was lent to my hams,
A roast pig rump,
Or to sow’s udders. 

Judge the space between my legs;
Is it wide enough, or too closed off? 

Oh, I am a show-pig indeed. 

Calculate the circumference
Of my calves, and the
Angle set off by my high heels
To steady these ham hocks. 

I’d put vaseline on my teeth,
Were it not for the fact my
Tusks would show—
Beware I gore you.
I’ll keep my mouth closed. 

Beautified. 

A vile phrase this is, vile phrase.
Waste not your pearls on me,
Some bi-dyke, mannish woman. 

I have been raised unjust
As a daughter.
I have been g/razed to prepare
For my slaughter. 

This is not a pity poem,
It’s a warning.
For men, and for me:
Eye ham more. 

---

L. Cannon is a 20 year old, queer poet from Canton, Georgia. She currently studies literature and linguistics, and has a passion for the classics. In addition to writing, Lane also narrates audiobooks and has illustrated a book of children's poetry. Their work has also been published in Vantage Point.

Twitter: @cannonvoice
Instagram: @cannonvoice

Euphoria

in her skin, I found solace

in her scent, I found paradise

in her lips, I found life

something changed, 

as we began to consume each other

as we got lost to the rhythmic dance of our tongues

for this euphoric high, we didn’t need to set our lungs afire

to be intertwined, breast to breast

my leg over the majestic lump of her butt 

my hand resting on the small of her back

her hand clinging to my waist

and the perpetual wetness between her legs,

was euphoria on its own

---

NHYLAR is a 24 year QPOC who currently resides in Toronto. She uses poetry as a creative outlet for her existential rage. She writes about queer representation, living away from home, intimacy, existentialism and anything that intrigues her.