in polyamory-land, i think of relationships as pies & i texted this to a hot, beardy musician to entice him on a second date

in polyamory-land, i think of relationships as pies

each person brings what’s in their kitchen: peaches, candy bars, blueberries, lemon juice, frozen fruits, wheatgrass, lunch meats, ramen packets, toffee bits, sliced beets, chia seeds, protein powder, green peppers, edible flowers.  flavor negotiate: select none, select all, select a few.  you can sift, sort, stir, pour, fill measuring cups, fuck on the counter, drop to the floor, hit the bowl, spill the filling, taste the mess—faces pressed to shoulders licking skin.  maybe you start all over again, preheat the oven, add some gin, empty the bowl into a crust from the fridge, lay lattice slats in a pentagram, a cat’s whiskered face (or, if you must, boring criss-cross lines).  sacrifice the jiggly thing to the heat, pray it hardens, set the timer, have a full body orgasm, sneak in a toke, peak in the oven, poke in a knife.  has it set yet?   sigh impatiently, full of anticipation: lust after the smell, bet on deliciousness.  no time for cooling; you’re both drooling.  hands in each other’s mouths until you’re full & satisfied.  each pie process is unique to the bakers.  could you be satiated forever on a single list of flavors?

i texted this to a hot, beardy musician to entice him on a second date


at the end of your set, i approached the merch table
‘i appreciate your angst,’ popped out (i meant to say something playful)

i’m glad you didn’t think my post-show friend request was bizarre
you even messaged me cat pics! && we ended up at that trendy bar

i immediately liked the way you said ‘kissed’ as a synonym for dated
(&& if you’re wondering, i don’t think boston’s over-rated)

after hours of pleasant conversation, i invited you back to my room
i wanted to see if our kissing chemistry was a bust or a bloom

bloom it did && we found the freckles in our eyes do align
regardless of our incompatible astrological signs

normally, i don’t forgo my sleep schedule or bring strangers into my bed
but it was all worth it (&& so sexy) when you pinned my arms above my head

i’m not looking to fall in love or whatever, just for some flirtation
(&& a few casual encounters?) until our inevitable dating expiration

thanks for taking a break from being bored && alone to be my big spoon
what i’m trying to say is

       can i pick your beard hairs off my tongue again sometime soon?

~~~

Raina K. Puels is an MFA candidate at Emerson College and the Editor-in-Chief of Redivider. She leaves a trail of glitter, cat hair, and small purple objects everywhere she goes. You can read her in (b)OINK, Animal, Sidereal, ​and forthcoming in The American Literary Review, Occulum, and former cactus. Tweet her: @rainakpuels

 

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