Written by Jacob Ibrag
I think I hate it most when we’re
silent and several feet apart, occupying
opposite sides of an island that is our couch.
It’s when we’re at each other’s throats that
I know you want to be here as much as I do.
You think I’m sick, I do too. Throw away
this empty peace time nonsense; drag your
nails across my chest. Mark me with the
letters of your name, as I clutch onto your
thighs and ride through the pain. Wasn’t
always this way, used to be vanilla till
you introduced me to your fleeting
Photography by Mike Monaghan