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.