Forrest Lindsey

The instructor has us choose, we  decide I will give, you receive  You close your eyes as I place my hands  against your back  kneading tightened tattooed muscles  like clay, you map out the dark from  my touch. I lift your shoulder to  release, you refuse to  give up your own weight. The instructor  tells us to approach our partners  with hands that do not want. Shit-  but I want. These hands  they want and want and want. We shift  from the...

Transmasculinity in Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein A feathered mother-lover crown, a crimson angel, blood dripping down a softened chin, a winged being trapped in glass. A creature, man-shaped and alone, stitched together from the blue-gray bodies of the dead.  These are the images that linger. The conjurings of Guillermo del Toro’s film adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein . I will always remember sitting at the Nitehawk Cinema, buzzing and ready to see one of my favorite classics...

I told her, I’m sorry, I can’t remember how you died  as our bodies gravitated toward one another. So close, yet, not touching for it is the day of love and we are not lovers just friends that fuck. She, a doe unskinned, blood splashed in her lashes. She, wearing my lingerie and falling into me, faded on blue. Cerulean oval unforgiving, she forgets to kiss me as she searches  for oblivion.  Cover image by Ava Williams