Poet: Chanel Gomaa

After we have sex she tells me
“There is no art in politics”
And I want to take back both our orgasms
Wrap them in the glitter she doesn’t think coats our fragile right to lay here in her bed together
Naked – Alive – Satisfied
And send them off to the producers and writers of Pose Or Fire Island Or Feel Good
I want to mail them to every person who participated in a Die In or a Kiss In in the 80’s
Or the 90’s
Or today
I want to forward them to every Drag Queen and King that has ever had their royalty questioned
By heteronormative peasants
She says there is no art in politics
And I think about how the first time I drove to her apartment with an extra set of clothes
The only way to calm my nerves was to remind myself that our intimacy is revolutionary
Every moan might as well be breathed into a megaphone
I am protesting my own internalized homophobia every time she asks “should we go to bed?”
And I say “yes”
Every time she cums is a step in the right direction
Every time I arch my back
Change rises to meet me
And I wouldn’t be dressed in her sheets if not for the artists who decorated this world
In their pleasure before me
Before us