May I have the crumpled paper 

of my skin? Its lucid sheath, 

sagging tunic, wrinkled hide 

to shawl my shoulders, remember

—I’m yours. Smack

a venom kiss against my lips; 

viper fang, bald-faced hornet. 

Bless your razor 

when it shaves me down 

to man. Muscular. Spineless. 

Love, last night I begged another 

God to slay me. Stray javelin 

of lightning, carbon fantasy, 

anaphylactic dream of cashew cream, 

forgive me. 

In desperation I couldn’t rise, 

my legs—stilts of strawberry 

jelly. Love, mash me

like a rotten berry, putrid jam. 

I promise

to hoard the swarm of bees from you, 

take every sting from you, 

bloom beyond the blood 

blue bruise and become 

your pure sugar baby.

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Michael Russell (he/they) is the author of chapbook Grindr Opera (Frog Hollow Press). He’s queer, has BPD, Bipolar Disorder and way too much anxiety. Their work has appeared in Arc Poetry Magazine, Contemporary Verse 2, SICK Magazine among other places. He lives in Toronto and thinks you’re fantabulous. Insta: @michael.russell.poet