A blue name needled into the skin.
The overlong man washed—bathed even
In bedroom gleam.
Jacques, French,
Hand-poked tattoos, Polish nose
Flaxen from a pink flame, sativa hydroponic.
Hasselhoff reincarnate.
Jacques wipes his acrylic nose with watercolor
Under his fingernails.
He has no idea.
“Do you like citrus or florals?”
Both, but I love
Your musk. White sock club is
White hot forever for him.
Buzzcut, basketball shorts,
Mesh boring into fresh linen.
I can’t be in here,
Your room, the dark cobalt locker room
Where we go deeper with every drip from
The faulty showerhead faucet.
No, I can’t wear mesh, I wear
Lace.
Lemongrass limps on his lower
lip drawling:
“How old are you?”
How old are
You?
Jacques, I need to get better
At spelling your name, oh,
Jacques,
Is there a ‘k’ before the ‘q’
(queue)?
Jacques, why do you
Only use disposable
Razors?
You’ve made me quite the archer,
Jacques, nocking my arrows before
Letting me shoot.
The growth, the apple seed sprouting
Up from my navel,
Irradiating your cupped hands.
Jacques, you blue marble bust.
Just decoration.