gender debauchery and dandelions, lost boys and brothers

I reside in a heart with blood red walls and books stacked in dusty corners.  I can see stars and smoke from the wooden perch of my left ventricle, and sounds and smells are both new and familiar.  My heartmate/housemate rarely returns to our humble abode and my squid friends are off having their own adventures.  It's lonely here, but it won't be for long.

The aftermath of my most recent adventure has left me feeling contemplative and homesick for the Michigan meadow that I claimed as my own for three glorious days.  Winknight is waking up in that meadow as I write this, and I am pleased that she/he/they now occupies the space that I left with such sadness and yearning.

I drove through the midwest in a car full of strangers who quickly became my soulmates.  We told our life stories as we chewed on endless tea tree oil toothpicks, perfuming our vehicle with the scent of bodies and rainforests.  We giggled at rural rest stops where our five ambiguous bodies were subject to scrutiny in binary bathrooms.  When we finally arrived in a utopia of woodsmoke and gender debauchery, bathrooms were no longer problematic.

I spent my first Michigan evening on the forest floor playing werewolves beneath the full moon.  My freckled mistress and I slept curled like canines in the back seat of a car.  We popped open the trunk and tumbled out into delicious morning, spreading sleeping bags over grass and twigs so the sun could lick our bare chests.  She told me about the dandelions etched below her collarbone and I told her stories of my early boyhood.

I had leaves in my hair and dirt in every orifice and I reveled in my new crustpunk layers of sweat and smoke.  I found many long lost brothers and we paraded through the trees with ukuleles and guitars, singing silly songs of a perfect world.  I ground chickpeas into hummus with my fists and fed my new friends delicious vegan meals.  We had long fireside conversations about theatre, consent, and children's books.  We told ghost stories and promised to write letters.

The day of our departure, Brother waited in the car while I kissed Freckled Dandelion Mistress goodbye with unanticipated tenderness.  We exchanged saliva and lists of books to read along with promises to visit often.

Soon two of my squid friends will return and we can tell these tales in person.  Until then, I wish many fulfilling adventures upon them.