D’Ora with her coffee tries to focus and listen and care, but in a quick minute her mind goes to Phil. It’s been ...

I didn’t want to be a victim to my desire, to the legacies of white supremacy and internalized homophobia.

Thirsty. It made me thirsty to watch the drop of sweat that was balancing at the top of the hill formed by his bicep, as ...

The way she smiled at him nearly made me jealous. Even though I didn’t know who she was, yet I was beginning to feel jealous.

Name, shame, secrete, wash, wipe clean, wring dry, sanitize. What I can’t expunge, I conceal. I blur and disguise.

Desire is complicated in that as much as it burns inside of you and demands an outlet as is it born of heart, of love, ...

Rust-red mold on the pavements like a carpet, sweat permanently congealed on my skin, finding that a street ends in a chasm or sinisterly iridescent ...

The two men who approached us in Grand Central must have smelled it on us––the tension of coming apart.