My first gay pride parade:
I waved rainbows in the air
and a leather daddy with
a whip on his hip patted my
head and said: ‘Awe, honey,
what are you doing here?’
One ladies’ night at Flame,
I was sipping a $2 rail,
when a crowned pixie cut
in flannel says to me:
‘Sweetie, I think
you’re at the wrong bar.’
My first girlfriend rocked
an undercut and suggested:
“Maybe you could get
a septum piercing?” while
she bit at my collarbone.
I never was able
to look the part. The fact is,
I have known only one
and I may just sink forever
into his dark, curling hair.
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