The only warm thing in the bed is the cat,
and I’m laying awake
struggling with the sheets
on the brink of this hole in my heart
and in my head
and next to me in the bed.

My wife says she needs some space.
Not just space to breathe,
or space to think,
or space to be,
but enough space for someone else to climb on top of her,
enter when she’s begging them, “please,
I want you inside of me.”

Life is for skiving.

….I’ve been wanting to tell you this for days, but I’ve been trying to hold everything back to give each of us a little space, but especially you ‘cause I want you to be happy, but I really miss you. I still think about you all the time, and whenever I call, it’s just an excuse to hear your voice….

“Don’t fuck with me, you puffy blob of yeast.” Troy gets masculine with a poundcake.

Waiting at night in front of Kinsolving, in the yellowed lamplight glow is one of my fondest, most bittersweet memories.

One wonders how many men share these memories, intersected in space but diverging in time?