A Queer Man’s Kiss and Pre-Transition

by Micah Faulds

A Queer Man’s Kiss

queer man doesn’t kiss like

the sun on warm afternoons,

no kiss like the sip of homemade juice

trickling down rib bones in your chest,

has never kissed like someone

who sucks on every sweet breath

of summer flowers, beach grass,

hopes of feet buried in soft sands.

the queer man kisses like

the cold that shakes arms digging

down through clay mud in marshes,

a deep kiss that reminds you

of thunder rain hitting the sweat-

stained spine of your back,

pools salty and fresh, mixed in rivers;

some desperate, tight-lipped kiss

that rings with shame,

like he’s scared to admit he found

a caterpillar in his briefs

and trapped it in a jar,

watched it morph into a moth

of spotted wings and colors.

Pre-Transition

a forest stretches across my chin,

an ecosystem, bearded thick—

back and forth a razor dangles,

swinging slow, side to side

above bristling treetops.

i call my body Mother Nature;

a woman with fields of hair sprouting

in fertile flesh, watered by the lake of her lips.

a woman who hides in bushes;

the sunlight that stings her cold skin.


Micah Faulds is a disabled trans writer living in the Midwest. Their prose and poetry has been featured in The Kiosk Magazine and Versification, and their work has earned an award in Literature from the Arts Council of Johnson County, as well as an Undergraduate Research Award from the University of Kansas. They can be found on Twitter @micahfaulds