the touch was better than the sex

but the sex was rotten to the heart

& at the heart of it, things were fungal from the get-go

& i was infected when you touched me on that couch

under his eyes, when you handed me the poppers

when you lay your pinky over mine

when you rubbed against my thigh

under his roof, when you fucked me 

& things went so wrong 

i couldnt stop kneeling with you

but i had bad knees before the beginning

& when i stood up, when i asked if you could cum

you took yourself back out in response

put yourself under his hand

sterling-elizabeth arcadia (she/they) is a trans poet and diy tattooer in baltimore, where she watches birds and cares for her cat. her poems have been published in DEAR, New Delta Review, Poetry.onl, and elsewhere. her first essay is forthcoming in jmww