Arcane Torso on Grindr
We cannot know his legendary head,
now hidden by a peach. Yet his torso,
all ink and Equinox, is backlit from inside
the phone: hard math; a circuitry of low
fires—sexy algorithm. Otherwise
the flexed bicep could not dazzle me so, nor could
his cum-gutter’s v, his barely-shaved thighs,
nor his bottle rocket all set to flare.
Not on this phone, he doesn’t have any face
pics to trade, nothing above his shoulders.
But his chest—bury my face in that fur!
Would not he, were it not for the cropped selfie,
arouse like a porn star. He says your place
or mine. I must lie about my life.