Handbook:

      1. Tumble me, Love:
I need the rough, the space to lose myself
in the smoothe of you. Fold our plushing
time together. Switch positions. Take me
in the kitchen. Unapron & ease in slowly,
this eternity, lit golden & glint dripping
honey.

      2. Tunnel me, Love:
Dip yourself in to taste. Undo me inside,
then out on the lawn. Rub me in emerald
with your verdant thumbs as I pour into
the flow. Ridden hard & put away
as the rainfall tickles our thirsty open
palms.

      3. Bolt with me, Love:
Let’s time this work together & come
clean—run innocent as we are & were,
naked & stunning under the thunder
—lighting striking out from our quaking
thighs.



____

Adrian Dallas Frandle (he/they) is a queer poet & queerer cook. A reader for Variant Lit & Okay Donkey Lit Mags, they have poems in or forthcoming in The South Dakota Review, Moist Poetry Journal, HAD, wrongdoing magazine, Daily Drunk Mag, Stone of Madness Press & elsewhere. More online at adriandallas.com – Tweets: @adrianf