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.
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