Who are my ancestors

my discreetly fruitful forebears

returned to those feelings we were born with

a world fought for opened up and set free

not a single grenade came from my hands

yet I’m still dangerous to some

cautious to hold my lover in public

five myths about wounds healing

resistance through amorous debauched dissent

into the back seats of cars

dank dark rooms crammed with red

do you remember learning how to ride a bike?

eyes filled with hazardous pavement scabby knees

and bleeding assholes because of them

we exist gratuitously blissful comfortable and

mostly wide open