The skin graft man won't get you

Me and my brother were talking to each other about what makes a man, a man. Was it brain or brawn or the month you were born? We just couldn't understand. Our old man didn't like our appearance, he said that only women wear long hair. So me and my brother borrowed money from our mother, we knew what we had to do. We went downstairs past the barber and gymnasium, and got our arms tattooed.

You could drown in those eyes, I said

He had green eyes so I wanted to sleep with him - green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool- You could drown in those eyes, I said.

The fact of his pulse, the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire not to disturb the air around him. Everyone could see the way his muscles worked, the way we look like animals, his skin barely keeping him inside. I wanted to take him home and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into him like a crash test car. I wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. You could drown in those eyes, I said, so it's summer, so it's suicide, so we're helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.

That's your braincells popping

Dumb whores, best friends