Voicemail Poems

I want to be: a good boy, your domesticated coyote. My tongue’s handwriting is the shape of your body unshaved and without a shower. They need us to feel disgusted with ourselves, so you commit to my appetite unreserved. You become tender only while listening to crust punk and letting my fingers impersonate what I really want. The moon is a cuck watching our disentanglement. I can’t remember if I slept but the birds are our mothers waking us up. You make my coffee like a prayer, so I call you a saint right before we kiss. It is time to creep into something other than each other, but you don’t need a leash to take me on a walk. You’re five feet taller than me when I’m on all fours. You fear a million fears about me, but only a handful are true. ————————————– Mary Violet called us from Philadelphia, PA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems x.com/voicemailpoems bsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.social instagram.com/voicemailpoems