I dreamed of what your flannels smelled like, how it encased the richness of you, something I’d be able to keep to myself when I left our first date.
The only threat I felt that night was when I walked up to your apartment, but once inside, my confidence burst. There was you and a beard I’d soon get to know, a balcony to kill our initial fifteen minutes of awkwardness. Those first encounters are always the worst with men from Grindr, but with you, it wasn’t hard to get past.
We stood on your wet third-floor balcony, the trees spritzed in rain slapping up against the railing, spreading their dampness to our feet. We watched dogs walk their owners, a hand guided by leash, the clouds kissing us together. You laughed and pointed at a lab eating grass and wondered what possessed them to do this. I knew, though I never answered. I was too wrapped up in your voice, its raspiness hidden by delicacy, a low hum binauraling its way into my gut, cabbage white fluttering around my innards.
When we moved to your bedroom, musk told me it lived there, too. I saw a candle and asked you to strike it, and then, there were flowers. The laundry basket bloomed in greys, deep reds, lavenders, lilacs. You didn’t need to apologize for it. All you had to do was kiss my hand and ask me if I wanted Taco Bell, and so you did, and we left in your truck, the candle still burning, my belly still pierced with your charm.
You used the steering wheel to hide your shame, and I guessed you thought of the photos I sent days before meeting because, behind your jeans, I saw growth. I guess I liked the validation of seeing you try to hide it, your tool, your member, your intermittent organ, for fucks sake, your cock, though masking it didn’t work. You couldn’t hide it from your voice, because as soon as you pointed to the white flowers near the side of the road, your throat trembled.
Said they were pretty and that you’d like to pick me one someday. My face turned red, not out of flattery but because I knew what those Bull Nettles were capable of. I didn’t have the heart to tell you.
When we got back to your apartment, we cuddled ourselves up with burritos and quesadillas, said your family in Mexico would curse you for loving white-washed fast-food. They’d curse me for being gay, too, you said and bit into the last wrapping of lettuce.
I learned to hold you tightly against my skin and soon realized I shouldn’t have sent you those photos because you couldn’t stop yourself from pillaging through my clothes, though I told you not to.
Said you had an itch, that I had one, too, that you were the only person that could scratch it, the only one who could yearn it away from me. I guess I shouldn’t have expected a white flower from you, a kiss on the hand or a hug beneath your arm.
From your window, I couldn’t see past the trees. The sun shown nothing through. I thought of the people, their dogs eating grass, their owners letting them because they knew, too. I heard your smile click as you pulled my swimsuit down.\
I thought of the white flowers, their sweaters of histamine and acetylcholine, I thought of the pain they pursue, the itch you knew nothing about.
I learned from you that the glide of a hand can rot a night.
I guess I should have known the art of possession when I came in your bed, your head between my legs and a groan that told me it didn’t matter if I ghosted you.
My body curled away from you when you said my dick was something to remember. And I thought of the white flowers.
It wouldn’t be fair to myself to cynically thank you for your dedication to validate me, for quivering over my dead body as I laid lifeless, emptied of myself, and my will to tell you no.
It wouldn’t be fair to you to let you live within that lie of my acceptance.
I am the flowers strangled from dirt, uprooted by your mouth.
Your tongue was the shovel.
I was not impermeable.
Zachery Noah Rahn is a poet and essayist with a bachelor's in Writing & Linguistics from Georgia Southern University. He enjoys watching horror movies, rollerblading, and spending time with his dog. You can follow him on Twitter @zacheryrahn