Gavin

Hoskinson

Mirror Poetry

I was five and saw the world in bright
colors. My eyes were covered with innocence

that I’ve lost with freckles and I realize,

they are synonomous.

I insist time exists,

a mere deadline for human decay.

I’m decomposing by the day.

Nothing is static.

Throw yourself away and feel safe,

we are all biodegradable

and the only thing we’re growing is scars.

BLINDFOLD

I’m blind and she’s feeding me fantasy.
Crayons, balloons, jax; I hope she hands me
flesh. Wire cleaners never feel this erotic.
I’m only blindfolded but I feel bound.
Arms and feet, find me, I feed naked and
exposed. Hand me foreplay. Hand me sex.
Hand me something breathing that will
hold me back and sweat and laugh and
cry and stay in my arms longer than
the crayon/balloon/jax/wire cleaner that
I have already discarded in an attempt
to touch your finger tips. Your body is
warm, and I could see you the whole time.