I know by the way I shove them against the cold bathroom tile wall and bite down into the warm sky of their neck that they don’t read me, they don’t fuck me, they don’t experience me as woman. Toni and I go on, navigating the surfaces of our queer flesh. Naming for ourselves, our selves. Toni’s core is ocean. My cock is a swelling mast. We fuck with bruising grip, becoming true.
