Robin Gow
MY BOYFRIEND AS AMERICAN PSYCHO
It’s not as bad as you’d think. He has
the sturdiest thumbs and whitest sheets
of anyone I’ve ever known. Washes his hands
eight times before placing another business card
beneath my tongue. I feel the ink of his name
printed on my blood. We all make bargains
for our pleasures. I told him once, please don’t
show me the knives. What a man does
in his darkness is none of my bothering.
Still, I wonder what proximity does to a soul.
I tell him to turn off the lights. Let his body
dissolve into touch. Just a man. Just a man
with his own bruise and bone. We met
inside a shower, I, his steam reflection.
I, his muscle’s strain. I, the urge to repent
tucked inside a thirst for restaurant and wrist.
A watch asks me what “masculine” means
and I whisper Don’t love anyone. Not now.
It’s just as bad as you’d think. It’s just
as bad as you’d think.
It’s not as bad as you’d think. He has
the sturdiest thumbs and whitest sheets
of anyone I’ve ever known. Washes his hands
eight times before placing another business card
beneath my tongue. I feel the ink of his name
printed on my blood. We all make bargains
for our pleasures. I told him once, please don’t
show me the knives. What a man does
in his darkness is none of my bothering.
Still, I wonder what proximity does to a soul.
I tell him to turn off the lights. Let his body
dissolve into touch. Just a man. Just a man
with his own bruise and bone. We met
inside a shower, I, his steam reflection.
I, his muscle’s strain. I, the urge to repent
tucked inside a thirst for restaurant and wrist.
A watch asks me what “masculine” means
and I whisper Don’t love anyone. Not now.
It’s just as bad as you’d think. It’s just
as bad as you’d think.
SELF PORTRAIT AS PARANORMAL ACTIVITY
Yanked from the bed. Drug by the cold ankle
towards gaping hallway. Once I was a woman
and now I am an obelisk. On my face
is written something to be remembered
but not read. His eyes are a camera lens
and in the morning, I will polish his modes.
He will tell me we are alright. On the floor
I feel my skin thin to wallpaper or curtain.
In the beast’s playpen, how is one bone
unique from another? I used to sleep besides him
like a real mammal. We breathed and breathed
and breathed. The blankets turned our bodies
into quiet mountains. Trees took root
on our backs and tumbled off as we turned over
in our sleep. I am afraid of blinking. What might
lurk and make itself visible if I quit
this vigil. Back in bed, I take inventory
of my limbs. Arms like bassinettes. I want to--
need to sleep standing up. Eyes open.
Yanked from the bed. Drug by the cold ankle
towards gaping hallway. Once I was a woman
and now I am an obelisk. On my face
is written something to be remembered
but not read. His eyes are a camera lens
and in the morning, I will polish his modes.
He will tell me we are alright. On the floor
I feel my skin thin to wallpaper or curtain.
In the beast’s playpen, how is one bone
unique from another? I used to sleep besides him
like a real mammal. We breathed and breathed
and breathed. The blankets turned our bodies
into quiet mountains. Trees took root
on our backs and tumbled off as we turned over
in our sleep. I am afraid of blinking. What might
lurk and make itself visible if I quit
this vigil. Back in bed, I take inventory
of my limbs. Arms like bassinettes. I want to--
need to sleep standing up. Eyes open.
Robin Gow is a trans poet and young adult author. They are the author of OUR LADY OF PERPETUAL DEGENERACY (Tolsun Books 2020) and the chapbook HONEYSUCKLE (Finishing Line Press 2019). Their first young adult novel, A MILLION QUIET REVOLUTIONS is slated for publication winter 2022 with FSG. Gow's poetry has recently been published in POETRY, New Delta Review, and Washington Square Review. Gow received their MFA from Adelphi University where they were also an adjunct instructor. Gow is a managing editor at The Nasiona. MAYDAY, and Sundress Publications.