The deciding factor in
whether or not I’d breach the boundary between binaries
was a gender neutral bathroom sign.
I heard someone belt a show tune in the shower while
another howled. Someone else took off their jeans, stuffed
them in the nearest toilet, shit on top of them while
I untangled my hair with a toothpick
and pulled out the lifeless strands before putting them
in my mouth and
running the length of each with my tongue.
I tasted aloe and mint. I tasted
the flesh of a caged wren, which was, of course,
my own. Oh well, I thought,
for taste and time are indistinguishable when both are plastered to my teeth,
my fangs colored amber and hollowed by moths.