I fucked someone else last night and hated it.
His body was perfect:
a series of spheres conspired into being a man–
stomach racked on the green felt of boys like me,
mouth a glass filled to the brim.

I forget his name as I hear it
and it's buried in a blizzard:
he’s from Florida
works nonprofit PR
his android battery is eternal.
He takes out his contacts on my dresser, unprompted.
It is Josh.

The snow falls thicker as he guides himself into me
viscous, immense
I try to remember
but it hasn’t stuck.
Of full body and empty mind,
I use the low visibility to my advantage
and think about someone else.

---

I wake up in Josh’s parents’ bed
clammy and heaving beside him
replaying the dreamscreen image of his body on mine
still unsure
under his latent weight.
I remember a truth I never told myself:
I’ve been dreaming about having sex dreams about him
since before I knew how.

He’s seen me look at him, I think,
in our shared hovels, tents and beaches,
but he’s probably used to it.
I confess on the dancefloor.
Why do Joshs have such nice bodys

---