Hearts that are delicate and kind and tongues that are neither

The tea parties not the tea rooms
The men’s room in Machine City
was scandalous or so I’m told
Glory holes off the Andromeda Strain
Cheap metallic concessions concourse
Connecting Sterling and CCL
Vending machine vending machine
weird murky ugly light but
leads to the secret heart of
This metaphor was going and going Nowhere my dear
And never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own

Henry

Short, wearing Bass Weejuns
I didn’t have the vocabulary
But now I’d say he was kinda hot
In a way not obvious but then
Very
and makes you nervous
In a tight cold Protestant way

Henry

Percolates with barely concealed libidinous
Trifles
Standing next to him
“What are you—”
We didn’t have any classes together
Standing next to him
I thought of Women in Love
Gerald and Birkin
Are all men either husbands or lovers
I said and smirked
What did I do to offend him
If he wanted to sleep with me all he had to
Do was ask