I Believe In Angels

Years ago
when traveling back home
in the middle of the night
in the car with my father’s 2nd wife
after we had visited him
in a treatment facility for his
crack cocaine addiction,
his wife shared with me
that she believed in angels.
She spoke of them in the Christian sense;
having wings, being dressed in white,
but being invisible
and flying around to help people in need.
I sat there in the sad darkness of
the moving car
and thought the stuff coming out of
her mouth
was absolute bullshit.
Now, after having transitioned to female
and had soulful lesbian sex with a woman
… now yes, yes I do believe in angels
and I know they’re living, breathing,
here on earth.

Five Hundred & Forty-Five Mornings

One of these days you’ll
not wake up
and all the people you will
have ever loved
will be dead.

Tell me that is not the way towards love.
Rather,
show me that won’t come true
for you.
Show me.

Show me little things matter.
That they’re here.
That you’re here, alive.
Not just waiting for moments
of love to pass,
to pass on,
to be something without you
or to be something with
only you and you alone.

Come touch my sensual body and
my passionate soul
here in the morning,
the 6,540th morning you have left
on this earth.
For if you touch it
once every 12 days
that means you have
545 mornings left to touch me.

If you touch it,
death holds off on its road to the stars
for one less moment.

Make me some kind of sentient lover.
Am I a seraphim again?
Let me be made as a woman.
Find me a woman.
Bring her tongue to my nipples.

Broken Flower

I’m just a broken flower, Mama.
I don’t have a penis or a
vagina, Daddy.
Satellites fly over my head.
Humanity triumphs.
I just need love.
What is love?
I don’t deserve love.
Yes, I’m trans.
Are you dating, then?
Yes, I’m dating.
Open and a free-for-all.
Do you suck dick?
No. I eat pussy.

Azure Dionysian

It is through buoyant sexual azure
that I’ve changed the world,
known it, navigated it,
been changed by it.

Vibrant berry azure
on the edge of my dark brown eyes,
lustful in all those moments
when someone speaks to me,
them to me,
me to them,
feeling and knowing
this ripe berry energy.

Azure Dionysian,
as your days turn into
something closer to heaven,
lead all those to their sexuality of spirit,
their freedom.

The Femme Templar

To have my face
between your legs

is to give back to the world
all that has gone wrong with it.

It is to make a self-disolving offering
to the spirit of the feminine
that has been kidnapped, taken away,
and not allowed to prosper and bloom
upon this sorely misled planet.

It is to sit there in a body of masculinity
on my knees
at the base of all that is right and good
with civilization,

to repent and make the prayer in flesh for a new era,

to say how much I utterly love you
and the way that your body tastes down there,

to ask for a better way of living,
to taste the essence of this promise.

Lovers Made Of Crystal Dust

In the town of Meldwaen
the agenda drifts out to sea.
It is raining this afternoon,
I pull my semened penis from my blanket.

The houses are made of stone and sand.
You can smell it from the windows burning,
garlic, and oil, and flowers.

The agenda sits on a shelf
by a kitchen-fire burning,
flames are laughter and humanity.

One male rolls the flour of rice bread.
Two females look at each other.
One has wrinkles from the sides of her eyes.
The houses are made of sand and stone.
No one is a servant. All of these are lovers.

Only the male goes to stare upon the sea
alone
when the evening stars are rising
and breathes.
His bones are made of sand and stone.

Purity Of Body

The purity of your body
conforms to so many advertised standards
of women.
Well, white women, crystalline,
Anglified, Germanic women.
It makes my dick work…
…in the way that adults need their dick to work,
at least when they’ve got to that age
when their dick sometimes has issues working.
I mean, adult men.
I’m not sure about the dicks of women.
Don’t discount they certainly have one,
in some way,
I just don’t know anything about how
those things might work.
I wish I did.
I wish what I’ve written here
about women having dicks
wasn’t considered blasphemy by four, to five
of the world’s major mainstream religions.
But I believe it is.
This is one way that I’m a believer.
I believe these religions
present frameworks to people
for how they should or shouldn’t think.
And so you can’t believe that women have dicks.

Progeny Wasted

Shooting my semen into
a five day old cup of tea,

I will do this if I like.

Sitting on my desk,
it blends together
and begins to mold.

I live as the ancient Chinese did.

Pouring this cup into the toilet
and flushing it down the drain
while no one is looking,

I will do this if I like.

An act of autonomy on my part
before
the jealous gods.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin