Prayer Ghazal for Or­lando


The day the shoot­ing hap­pened,

I turned off my phone and fucked my lover.

We cleaned house and fixed things noth­ing and ev­ery­thing in my life has pre­pared me to face very hard things with a very good per­son: this is the place where we pray.

your cunt is a dance­floor, your body with its abun­dance of brave queer open­ings where we pray your blessed mouth’s hunger where we turn the phone off to face each other, pray

the litany of prayer beads of dance­floors, of lineup, of all night, of body, of chair dance, of cane dance, of wheelchair hump of ev­ery time some­one might have shot up

Man­hat­tan’s or Funka­sia found their way to Unit 2 or Quilombo no, we pray

I love my love very much, I love them in ex­actly ev­ery way my par­ents never pre­pared me to love any­one. I love this queer love nei­ther of my par­ents got to en­joy, I love ev­ery­thing I learned in line­ups drink­ing over­priced Jame­son’s gin­ger, chat­ting in crip cor­ner

ev­ery time I made rit­ual of dress­ing up and then driv­ing home with a burger alone sa­ti­ated and thigh sore, ev­ery place I dressed and wind to find my body, ev­ery place a prayer.

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