spun floss

They lied, my friend. They injected
their despair beneath your skin
like a parasitic insect laying eggs
in the body of another species.

Nothing they said is true,
everything about you is honorable. Every pore
that opens and closes—a multitude
along the expanse of your body, the
follicles from which hair sprouts
emerging again and again like spiders’ floss
spun from a limitless source.

You wait, huddled. Or carry yourself from
place to place like a burden. As if
you would stash yourself, if you could,
in a bus station locker, or somewhere smaller.
You don’t really hope, but
you can’t give it up completely.

Some stubborn nugget
is lodged like a bullet in bone.
Though each breath stings with the cold
suck of it, you can know the truth.
Every cell of your body vibrates with its own intelligence.
Every atom is pure.”

—  Ellen Bass

Nursey Week Prompt #6 - Dreamer.


Dex sucks in a sharp breath, arching his back slightly as a hot mouth slips across his jaw and sucks a mark into the corner of it. A warm palm presses against his right side, roving over his ribs and squeezing gently at his hip as it moves up and down in rhythmic strokes. Dex’s arm is wrapped around the expanse of broad shoulders, feeling a bicep flexing as the arm moves across Dex’s bare side, where his soft t-shirt has been rucked up.

Slowly, Dex begins to become aware of the slight scrape of stubble against his skin, the strength of thigh pressed in between his legs, the width of the hand curled over his ribs.

Huh.

So, Dex is in bed with a dude.

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