Autonomy and Find-You-Later-Love.


Photography by Mirt Norgren

“I’m living my best bachelor life,” I say. In minutes,“hey Jen, you wanna kiss me, Jen?”

We’re kissing in the street. Night. Warm air. Fireflies even.

We’re laying on my couch and she’s looking at a plant on my dining table. You’re such a director, she says. She found her light, I’m saying, about a pinky bulbed plant sitting underneath a placed pink lightbulb with a shade. I love laying next to someone who sees and honors the way I need to animate things. The child in me, pulling the mundane into frame, story. The plant in her light.


We’ve been cumming and crying a lot. I lay down on the rug and say “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, is this what—what free—what joy is? Is this what we want? Are we doing it? Is that why we feel OFF?”

Too easy. Stepping a toe up out of that magic dark—


We figure out I don’t know what to do with attention on me in bed. In being kissed, touched, receiving, I cry. Relief maybe.

Somewhere here, there’s room for a libido that has always, all ways, fired on all cylinders. Shame evaporating.

I’m feeling a very distinct, utterly unfamiliar, and acute point of tenderness, care, for making me feel good that has never been found. She—

“So you were just sneaking your own pleasure through on the sidelines,” she says.

“Yeah…,” I say.

We’re both laughing and wiping tears in the sheets.

She’s so—is there a word for it?— in that light.


She invites me to drinks. I say something like, “I’m vibing, chilling, with my plants” and I don’t come to the bar and it doesn’t matter and she finds me among flowers later with a watering can in hand. She’s got a big, wee drunk grin. Is it really so—there are people with room for a person to need to get a little stoned, alone with some plants, fill their pots with that drinking stuff—water. Autonomy and find-you-later-love.

She leaves the door cracked, and being that I am, after all, a sagittarius, knowing this, that’s there’s a place to leave, makes me curl up like cats and never go. I don’t know. I forgot what 4am laughter is. But now. Now I remember it’s good. Have you ever pulled a vegetable directly from the ground and taken a bite? Queer love. It’s sort of like this.

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