Pen Pals

I recently joined a pen pal group. I have only spoken to a couple of people so far. The relationships are still new, still malleable. It’s fun. It’s unpredictable. It’s overwhelming. Listening to other people talk about their philosophies on love, on the types connections they are seeking has given me a lot to think about. I haven’t come to any real conclusions as of yet but here’s the gist.

Am I capable of having no strings attached sex?
Can I have a threesome without drama and/or jealousy? It’s a great fantasy but is it pleasurable in practice? I guess there’s only one way to know that but do I have that kind of follow through?
Is it possible to decide on a conscious/rational level not to feel certain things?

What I definitely know
I am sexually frustrated.
I am having a hard time connecting fully because I really, really wanted Axel to be the one.
I am lonely and confused about intimacy.
I can’t do carnality without sensuality. I want both. I want wild, passionate sex but I also want to be kissed and held. Even if it’s only for a finite time I want to be worshipped and to worship in turn. 
God I just want to be touched.
I want to know someone inside and out. I am talking writing a journal together close. I am not interested in judging or changing anyone. I just want to connect. Now it might be that it’s a bad idea to know a lover so well, I can’t say. But I want to know someone as I know myself, inhibitions be damned.
I like the idea of a lasting relationship even if the form of the relationship changes with time. I mean we all evolve so it makes sense but it’s too lonely to live a life on the surface, from the senses alone. Sometimes you’ve got to drown.
I don’t know if a single person can contain these multitudes and I am still not entirely clear on what attracts me. A sexy voice, beautiful hands, a sense of playfulness, sensuality mixed with carnality, eccentricity, sincerity, an appreciation of the absurd, thoughtfulness, an appreciation of art and poetry etc. I want someone who would come to me, take a risk. Someone who challenges as well as compliments me.
It’s a lot to think about


Wordle #179


I follow your cross expression

To its transmutable keep.

The gold flecks in your eyes

Fizzling like forgotten constellations.

We our old and contemptuous

Living cock over fist

In search of a more amorous feint.

Does your heart burn blue or orange?

I follow the miner, song sinking

Beneath the earth’s fleshless folds.

I waver and whoop in the covenant

Of this truncated garden, a mind

That will neither give nor spare

Its sole tenet the benefit of sentience.

My doubts forming an ocean

Into which I am dutifully extinguished.


Test over, brain dead.



As yellow as carbon paper
My heart darkens under
The ache of delivery
Your graphite tongue
Leaves smudges in the air
Like a sphinx or a chimney.
I often plagiarize you
Repeating your sundry riddles
To innocuous beholders
In search of a sympathizing fog

We are as contradictory as gods
Hoarding the sepia of momentum
Like amber-cast mosquitoes
Each of us running from
Something borrowed
Or someone blue

We starve on haute coutre
On a culture which has grown
As skeletal as migrating wax
Clutching fistfuls of smiles
Like sparks in search of kindling

Rib (Audio)


Leif Podhajsky

Some nights we hunt measuring

The weight of our paired bones

You are far heavier than I

But not nearly as hungry


The air does not find my pleura,

Does not find my thirsty lips willing

The blood swarms under the pressure

Of your beleaguered embrace

The poor pitiless queen

Clutching at stone fingers

Trying to pry herself free

The self-proclaimed king

Prepared to use whatever means

Necessary to illicit conquest


Your blurry face with its slit grin

A penitentiary of sharp teeth

Lined up side by side idle

Within their cloistered cells

Eyes as tar sticking, sticking

To the lining of my windpipe

I should be flattered

What other requirement

Could be more pressing

Than your mighty phallus?


Is your animus so great

That I can place my dreams upon it

My child-bearing hips

My white yielding breasts?

What of my carnivorous spirit?

And intractable intellect?

Will you tend them?

Feed them? Worship them

As I must worship yours


It always comes back to the rib

The one that tears now at my side

Longing to extract itself and return

To its former commission

That rib that compels me to love

And service and maddening attraction

Yes the very one that you lord over me



First Date


She was beautiful

With her moon-tipped smile

The manic width

Of an effortless intrigue

He carried

Her slender hand

As they passed

Under the shadow

Of a garish marquee


Beneath the ruinous glow

Of street lights

No stars

In the heavens gleaned

No unprocessed spender

A breathing ossuary

This city

Black snow weeping

False doves uprooted

By hawkish winds

She the only angel

As of yet unfallen

He with so little

To recommend


Writing this was mysterious because it does not feel like my usual muse