erupt

three or four orgasms yesterday
brought the skin on my hands to erupt
and feel like tiny mountains
itchy texture, rashy

pistachio

it's like time that we let our own layers shed away. like grime off as rain comes. like old leaves off with wind. I continue to react, to adapt, to survive. Even with conversation, with favors, with manners. They remain a clamped-down clam much of the time. A stubborn pistachio shell split on one side, and at times a bit more open than at others, but it remains shut, unwilling to split the fuck open and speak and live through raw desire. barely no ever yes perhaps why not