a lover in every country

perfect_slut

how love changes you
Nokyoung Xayasane

when I was 26
I said, I would like
to have a lover in every country

but that would involve
first
leaving the country
first
saving the money

I’m sure it’s not a very nice thing
to use people
for my own amusement
but I’m sure they use me too

I get asked out for dinner and coffee
all the time
I never put much thought into it
but they usually want more
from me than I can give them
they’ve been sold
on the idea of love
everlasting love
I pity them sometimes
like a mother
with her small child
they don’t know any better
but they will

I ask myself,
is it my responsibility
to teach them
I really don’t know sometimes
actually, I’d rather not

how come when someone
does something nice
that’s never all it is
I guess we are humans after all

this was a time
when I had concluded
the worst things about love

how it changes you
into someone fit
for someone else
but I’ve never been one
to fit into a square peg
I’m a round hole
after all

how come being in love
feels like falling asleep in the snow
during a blizzard
they tell you never
to do this
because you’ll wake up dead

I always end up falling
asleep in the snow
no matter how hard
I try
to stay awake
the warmth
and the giving in
the ending of who
I was
and who I had
always wanted to be

that’s love
to me

and then it’s over
it ends
as it always does
and I try to relocate
the substance of myself
I find it dormant
in the snow
hidden
protected

I try to warm
it in my hands
I try to remember
I’m a round hole
after all
and you had always
been a square peg

but back to the dinner and coffee
can a guy ask a girl
for dinner and coffee
without that extra layer
of something else

in my experience,
this has never been the case
now this makes me
wonder about all your
coffee dates
and all my own
perhaps we were planning
our great escape
but we hadn’t admitted it
to ourselves, to each other
it makes me sad sometimes
to think about love
how transient it is
how fallible
how it changes
as we change

but anyways
the thing is
you’re the guy a girl
dates to get her parents upset
I’m the girl you marry
if I believed in marriage
I think that pretty much
says it all

I hope you find
what you’re looking for
I’m a round hole
after all

The perfect slut

perfect_slut

The perfect slut
Nokyoung Xayasane

The perfect slut
likes to take photos
on its camera phone.
It positions its body
just so
the way I like it.

The perfect slut
is the right combination
of cute and hot.
But this slut has a brain.
It’s a librarian/model/art curator.
It knows its grammar.
It speaks five languages,
but it knows
when to shut up,
it knows
when to go
on its knees.

The perfect slut
adores sex,
but it doesn’t talk
about it,
not in public,
online,
and never on social media.
You see,
I like my sluts
to be classy.
Take note,
my perfect slut
is GGG
and always DTF.

Oh me oh my,
I like a lot of different sluts,
sometimes more than one
in a week, in a day,
but if my slut hints
at its own body,
its workings
and its needs,
I tell my slut,
Be classy, slut,
be classy.

I let my slut know,
Hey, all my friends
want to fuck you.
It finds this satisfying
because this is the
highest compliment
I can give my slut,
to acknowledge
its desirability.

I like my slut
to talk dirty to me,
but its problems
at work, with its friends,
with its family?
No thanks.
My slut doesn’t have
these problems.

I tell my slut
it can message me
all it wants,
it can sleep over
if it wishes,
I’ll give it some cab money,
I’ll pay for its Uber.
I may even drive my slut
home in the morning
if I feel chivalrous.

So, hey, I’ve just dropped
my slut off at its house,
and I promised
I’d text it later
soon.
Maybe I’ll wait
three to five days.
But until then,
I wonder,
Where’s my next
perfect slut?
Where is he?

We will call out to each other through the air

middle_distance

graft
Nokyoung Xayasane

I turn over
in my sleep.
Was it just
three weeks ago
when we first met?

These days,
time
seems so
condensed.
A lifetime
passes in
twenty-four hours,
everything changes,
distorts, evolves.

Things are lost
and found,
misplaced
and irretrievable,
people emerge
and fall away.
Nothing remains.

We are
the minutes
that tick by,
voices
sailing through
the air.

You told me
once,
that everyone is
searching for love
in their own
way.
Their loosened
hearts stumbling
through the darkness.
Their arms
outstretched
clutching
at the air,
hoping
to land
on something
soft and warm
and true.

I wish
I could’ve been
that person for
you,
for all that
have come
and gone.

I wish
we could’ve been
those people
for each other
all our lives.

Instead,
I’ll write you
these lines
and you’ll
put
pencil
to paper,
trying in vain
to graft
something
simple
and true.

We will
call out
to each other
through
the air.

(March 2016)

Do you think you’re the only one?

True or false?

True or false?

The only one
Nokyoung Xayasane

When you asked me
to meet you in the library,
I went.

When you asked me
to go on my knees,
I did.

When you asked me
to bend over,
I did.

I may have met you at the library.
I may have gone on my knees.
I may have bent over.

But it’s you
who’s searching
through the stacks,
it’s you
who’s on his knees,
it’s you
who’s bent over.
Is it not?

Control.
You think you have it?
Do you think that?

I imagine you
reading this now
with an expression
of quiet amusement,
embarrassment,
lust,
always lust.

Do you think
you’re the only one
reading this
thinking these thoughts,
thinking these words
are about him?

Do you think
you are
the only one,
my only one?

Do you think that?

Okay, see you
at the library.

I’ll look for the one
on his knees,
you,
my only one.

(25 March 2016)