Last night we took off the faces
that we wear from 9 to 5
(then 5 to 9 and back again)
We put on a wild abandon
a recklessness that we’ve hidden for much too long
(cuz somehow the everyday 1 2 3
just keeps on counting (4 5 6)
and we run out of time to dance)
But this time we forgot our arithmetic
and when 1 and 1 were added
there were infinite possibilities
We slipped beyond answers
past logical conclusions
and you whispered, ‘mmm, consume me’
Last night with our secret skins exposed
we counted backwards (5 4 3)
until there was nothing left
to separate us
I rolled you over (and over and over)
pressing you down with heat
not measured on thermometers
I wasn’t lying passive beneath your flames
cuz I come under fire enough every day
and here I just wanted to burn
Your breath came quick, sharp
now and now and now
I drew back to watch you want me
and you waited (2 seconds, 3, 4)
with eyes that said, ‘consume me’
Last night as the hours rolled by uncounted
(10 o’clock, 11, midnight)
we melted together and I was trying
to memorise this formula
(this face, this feeling, this skin –
what are the other factors?)
Then I realized that
we’ve had enough numbered days
slowly subtracting bits of ourselves
So I unplugged the alarm clock
let the phone ring
(once, twice, answering machine)
The world can count our absence
while I find infinite ways to consume you
Jamez Terry is a queer and trans poet, novelist, zinester, parent, chaplain, and rabble-rouser. His poetry has mostly been published in DIY zines and spit from stages across North America. His debut romance novel is forthcoming from Generous Press. He lives in Alaska.