i undress
boy mannequins
in the mirror
black leather
part shadow
contorting like
a mime
it’s time now
old twinks
were disposed of
but i’m tipsy
i can’t eat
you and grandma
shivers
with her bag
of tradition
my bio reads
softness
makes me sick
you’re sorry
we’ll wake
without names
i pretend
our fathers
are dead
before kneeling
although shame
can be fun
in the right light
i scroll through
nudes searching
as if reborn
— Coleman Bomar is a writer from Middle Tennessee