Andromeda Adams

“What if it wasn’t the crash that
made us, but the debris?”

— Ocean Vuong (Ocean Vuong, “Not Even,” Stanza 26, Line 1 (Line 42 overall), in “[Part] II” of Time Is a Mother, published at New York by Penguin Books in 2023; page 47.)

“On first
inspecting Adam, the devil entered his lips.

Watch: the devil enters Adam’s lips,
crawls through his throat, through his guts
to finally emerge out his anus.”

— Kaveh Akbar (Kaveh Akbar, “My Father’s Accent,” Part 5, Stanzas 1–2, Lines 1–5 (Lines 22–26 overall), in “[Part 2]” of Pilgrim Bell: Poems, published at Minneapolis, Minnesota by Graywolf Press in 2021; page 28.)

“[T]his is the desire that others us unites us secure in our desires
one multitude, one purpose
the games we play in here
the straight world gives no credit for
[…]how long have i sat vigil here
at the altar of the god who comes[?]”

— Jake Byrne (Jake Byrne, “saturday night’s alright for fisting,” Stanza 1, Lines 24–27 and 32–33, in “[Part 2.] gnostic iambic pre-exposure jockstrap jukebox prophylaxis” of Daddy, published at Kingston, Ontario by Brick Books in 2024; page 85.)

                         i.

Boot-leathered, musty, anonymity flourishes, neon-haloed,
glows viral, denies trust its
virus, Vitus-Dancing upon desire plaguing
minds with pulsating vibes of
thrusts fantasized, actualized by spitting

                         ii.

decency furnishes the most beautiful
boy with whom to share
a tragedy, fetishes with his
punishment, a groom borrowed from
an empty bedroom to fill

                         iii.

the saddle of my tragic
attraction to ridden men these
advances riddle with complications of
mine, sent away no reason
given for an end, whom

                         iv.

I’ll forever bed yet never
husband, repurposes them, and yes,
him, fielding all further questions,
led on to be thorough,
expected to leave after we’ve

                         v.

bred, but not before the
traumas of our loneliest melodrama
have fled, left welts, off-kiltered
after entered impenetrable heads, raised
tracks of marks across flesh

                         vi.

the sweating expanse of which
sweat blemishes as kisses lift
any semblance of sentiment left
Cupid exists, that this could
be the only moment our

                         vii.

respective Me defected ego long
enough to girth into the
orifice of an Us trust
wedded to the We need
seeks but no one promises.