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.