Non-Binary Worship
by Nnadi Samuel
giant pine of tall task deck the muscled prairie.
the cloud, fibre thick atop like a double-decker.
"this ferry imagery that spills you here.
I too stumbled on nature late,”
a hand that should be Riley's, splits open the toppled veranda.
I meet that adjective with the knowledge of our foreplay.
how else to convince me,
we are eco-friendly at making out.
assume I stumble on rough nature, say cliff.
my thought—a wild cat, toppled over & over again.
on nights that stuns grammar, the prairie comes off-white with love.
the air, notorious with the gift of a first try—toughens from the ground.
*
I'm at liberty with lavish.
at will, I reap a Siamese fruit but don't do what I must
because, the vulgar resemblance stinks strongly
like they too have been seeing each other.
like how I etch my weight on your topless thighs,
till it juts a bony weapon of bliss
quick as the kylie of leaves you wave to let me by, Riley!
it's the ease at which five finger becomes an entry point that spurs me.
how this hour is something others somehow haven't lived.
or did so, profiling the outnumbered queer.
the sun roasts over these words,
as the thought matchmakes in the many poses I invent, to laze around this topic
positing first that: straight is ennui,
& no one should be loved to ashes for making a quick hairpin bend from the normal.
I chew the scenery back to this unloved lawn.
at the snap of trees, my hiss trellises the pathway:
a ripe outburst for tough negotiation.
I eye-speak.
till the miry clay, to know ennui as being a handtool for the soil.
I shoplift the articles of a queerbait.
read the journal in all its nonconforming glory.
mouthwash a letter, the hours my tongue permits.
the coolest thing about a writer's block is:
that Ice to smash & read from—since the words won't come in newer fonts.
the toughest aspect is being undeserving of the minute hand on a timepiece.
your hour, ticked from within.
late breeze knocks me into the thighs of a lad.
the air, dirty with my scrote on a moving crate.
hands that dress to shape with my windbag.
someone loved this filth with the audacity
someone detests it.
I meet that verb with the knowledge of my mother's face.
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Nnadi Samuel (he/him/his) holds a B.A in English & literature from the University of Benin. His works have been previously published/forthcoming in Suburban Review, Seventh Wave Magazine, FIYAH, Fantasy Magazine, Uncanny Magazine, The Capilano Review, Contemporary Verse 2, Gutter Magazine, Beestung Magazine, The Elephant Magazine, & elsewhere. Winner of the Miracle Monocle Award for Ambitious Student Writers 2021 (University of Louisville). He is the author of “Reopening of Wounds" & "Subject Lessons" (forthcoming). He tweets @Samuelsamba10. @sammy_funberry on Instagram.