sometimes
sometimes I have a cock in the parc and métro in
the morning and
afternoon
it’s there at night in an empty bed and sometimes it
meets your touch
(touch that builds shelves that opens doors that clinks pints hands taught to feel this is all wrong that we are dirty)
a touch that tells new stories
sometimes I have a cock and it slides up your thigh and your breath
rushes up each wall and sometimes I have a cock and sometimes it’s ours
sometimes I have a cock and it’s my new language I understand but can’t yet speak
nuns taught me how
nuns taught me how to cum
sister marie patrice
took hours to show us the way the
warm iron hooks doubled back
and beaded the rosary
I knew
sister marie patrice’s desire well
meticulous like the smell of cold metal
and those bloodleather kneelers
her strong hands griping the trinket of her orgasm
I could feel
the way the mother mary
brushed sister marie patrice’s
neck hairs I knew mother mary
made her
ass clench made
her
cunt pulse
mother mary is a shy tom boy I think now
I loved her
because I wanted to fuck her
I don’t kneel for her
anymore I
pretend I am her
some trans mother dyke mary
I don’t kneel for her
anymore I
don’t kneel anymore
kneeling is just
desire
partitioned
look, now
I am mother mary and joan of arc too
fucking myself hard against the
marble walled vengeance of catholic silence
into and through
the gesture of this affection is
so much sweeter
than being seen by men
vous n’aimez pas les hommes? they mock
we walk on by
my handsome hand on your back
pivot and smirk at those men
finally, I’m
the desiring thing
not the desired
atoms smack around and
split and spew their rejection of
positive or negative charge, see
I’m not
woman
or man
more boy
but also
slightly girl
I bind my chest so I can make eye contact with myself
this t shirt fits right tonight I’m bounding through
your doorway you see me
grin and sweat you see me
you see me and I get to be me with you
me, a boy, me
I swing on monkey bars I orbit around in a space suit I concur that bench I howl your name, see
you let me let this truth of me
ooze all over
I let it out
let it sink into and through
my speech into and through
the way we fuck into and through
my cock-intelligence into and through this
chivalrous kiss
Words by Beatrice Duncan
Beatrice Duncan is a poet and writer. Their current project is a multi-medium novel on queer experience, quantum mechanics and intergenerational trauma. Their poems are published in Paris/Atlantic Magazine. They live in Berlin.
