Samantha Fain

ASDFGHJKL;

I imagine the hole in our floor is not a result of bad landlords but an overflow of love. It split our windows so we danced in the glass & kissed each other’s feet. You asked if I was okay & I said asdfghjkl; like I did when we first kissed, the same string of incoherent shit I typed as a teenager, but it was eloquent to me. A burst of feeling that fits in a tweet. Asdfghjkl;. I love our home & hate our house. This love is cramped & intricate & so full of junk there’s no space to move around. This love is paint over the outlets & invasive crickets & command-stripped frames but asdfghjkl;. If I’m not in your arms I’m nowhere. Remember our life pre-hole, last May, before the crater came, when we moved in & scrubbed the gray laminate’s dirt off on our hands & knees & survived on Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. It was hot. It was sexy. We were dying. Asdfghjkl;. & look at us now, pissed & teetering on our pit’s edges, leaning into a better place to be. Fuck a landlord. We can live laugh love in our little hole. Turn vampire. Suck the asdfghjkl;’s out of each other’s necks. Exist free & ridiculous. Let our love grow. Let the hole bloat. Rent can’t find us here because I love you & if the entire world is gulped up by our hole, good, we’re all better for it.

ALL MY FRIENDS KNOW I’M BROKEN, WE FOLLOW EACH OTHER ON SPOTIFY. 

Some nights I want a public death. I want

to have a funeral under a fragile moon in fields of lavender

& people who care about me with names 

I don’t care enough to remember. I want

my therapist to listen to my midnight playlists with me

so she knows who she’s up against. I would die for many people

because I love untransactionally. My heaven is a soft

economy where we share our biggest intimacies.

My secret is that I would wear my bones on my sleeves

if I didn’t get disapproving looks on the streets. I’m not perfect

but I would live naked if I could. Strangers could call me

crybaby & I’d thank them for the kindness. I’m grateful

for the internet because no one else understands me

but still I beg each new friend to try.

I tell all of this over the phone to Madison, who doesn’t listen

to Mitski, & that’s the difference between us;

I’m no longer ashamed of my desire.

hot dog theory

Tell me you’d love me as a footlong hot dog. Keep your face straight the entire time I make us reimagine ourselves, while we construct blueprints for a deep freeze with deep shelves, all mine to ice in. Help me seriously research the perfect resin to rest in, the best relish to dress in. Choose the Mariners baseball team & stadium seats, then take me to T-Mobile Park. I want to fly. O! my frankfurter friends, let’s float! Parachute down from the sky so divinely & land in our lovers’ angel hands—you always know which sausage is me. You slip me inside of your breast pocket & don’t eat, you just keep me warm. Of course you’d love me as a worm—it’s so easy to be tender for living, breathing beings. But what if I’m perishable & I grow that spoiled sheen? Love me as a dopey boiled dog, keep me around til I’m rotted & hard, when a strip of mustard splits the middle of my emulsified meat, & you hate mustard but I hate being lonely more so you lick my mess clean. I want to be the most ridiculous thing & still loved.