the closet isn’t big enough for both of us

Poetry

Linsey Itak

my vodka cran is shrouded cherry 

beneath the bar’s fluttering rainbow 

disco lights, it’s queer singles night 

murders of twinks and an ocean  

of butch drag queens mingle 

amiss the crimson tides— 

otters scurrying towards 

fishy bears in a technicolor sea  

of femme fatale lesbians. 

i just like this bar, the molotov 

cocktails sting perfectly 

with a side of juvenile 

karaoke. i see a gaggle 

of gays huddle gracelessly 

gossiping about this michael s. 

or jizzing over a silas h.—who 

even names their kid silas?  

his dick is massive, he’s perfect! 

eyes pinball like the brightly 

flashing machine from the 80s 

that hasn’t been free since 9 p.m 

sucking up coins as quickly as 

a vacuum devours broken glass 

from your favorite mug out of spite. 

a feather light tap swirls my brain 

as a man in his mid 20s smiles 

sweetly—so sickeningly sweet 

that his dimples look like caves, 

deeper than the dirtiest crawl hole 

that people get stuck in, having to 

strike limbs loose to escape— 

yet delectable, a treat to snack on 

even his jawline is sharper 

than the knife i use to  

trim my hair and cut 

meat for an easier grill. 

“hey, i saw you from across  

the bar. you're cute. i'm silas,  

what’s your name?”. groin growing 

with a groan, my eyes flutter 

to his neon-green highlighted lips— 

presented soft and innocent. 

“o-oh, i'm samuel...thank you?” 

a booming laugh escaped 

his heavenly jail cell, words 

dance about the room to mindless 

charli xcx and kylie minogue, 

he’s mid—that guy’s chopped! 

the group of flamboyant men 

ogle at this miraculous man 

who could shred dams, parting 

my red seas 

with ease.  

“you down to fuck?” my face 

implodes like it’s chernobyl 

and i've got 4th degree burns— 

“what?! i'm not gay!”