The Things With Wings* by Iris Tobin

Chrysalis, from our pods we emerge.

Breaking our lonesome torpor, a mildew morn

meets our dillweed breath.

We hunger now, for sweeter things,

New bodies, new tang, I guess.

But touch is taste with our tender legs,

Tongues split in two, ghosting open blooms.

I wipe chlorophyll off your probing proboscis,

Unfurled and wanton for that sweet-pea kiss.

Petal pastries and carrion nectar,

howling, he spreads the hare’s jelly through his lips,

Fangs rip in to take & take.

Drops sodium rich and iron laden,

Emboldened by form, we’ll taste while we can.

Escaped from sticky limbo or suspended animation.

We fall to disbelief at our strange beauty.

Fleshy false binaries, we were written to undo.

We bore witness to our own carnal emergence,

Now darling, how many others might say that?

Fighting match: biology to autonomy.

What campy conflict, a load of nonsense!

Look, we say,

Bright, how we flower.

See? we say,

Our facts of Trans-cendence.

(Title taken from Gregory Holch, 1998)

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Iris is a college dropout. They currently live in Madison, Wisconsin, and they like to write poetry with their queer friends online. Twitter: @irismtobin