I never want to confuse the average reader

But none of it is metaphor. Okay,

So I’m a turtle, retreating. My shell a home.

All my friends confuse the platonic.

Our ache for each other echoes.

my ex boyfriend is going to propose to his girlfriend. He called to tell me.

I want to be covered in flowers

made of rondelle and angora

and encrusted in muddy hemlines

and dusty polyester cuffs

He loves me through the act of scissors slicing through newsprint and cartoons. He also knows me well enough to know I’ll never read them.

you say you want to be more than friends

as if what we are is not enough to satiate

your desire to place your searing lips

on every inch of my skin

dear rita mae,

my whole life has been leading to the particular ugliness of this moment.

in the aisles of the Bryson Tiller room

where we previously agreed on the infallibility of the aux.

Olivia offers me one of her cigarettes and it tastes exhilarating. I take three drags and remember that I’m alive. I think about it for a few hours.

They are important to me

like ladybugs are to gardens

With wisteria padded wrists,

a friendship bracelet that stays in bloom

I remember the way you sounded at 3 am

when everyone else was asleep,

laptop like a lit candle against our legs.

it has never been so dark

but my eyes adjust quickly

my tail propels me forward

in the shadow water

Hi y’all, my name is Taylor Michael Simmons and if you read my work in the inaugural issue of Fruitslice or know me in any capacity you may have heard that I like movies.

In the store, I watch a friend stroke

nubby cloth, leather coats, silk shirts.

You’d knock

on her bedroom door, as if

picking her up for a date.

Annoyingly in love people always say the same thing about how to know that you’ve found your person. “When you know you know.” And I know, for sure, that in pain and in gain, thick and thin, all the vows plus some, that you are mine.

My best friend kissed me on the cheek in 7th grade,

I texted her today, [we haven’t spoken in three years].

the pillow forts and candles when the snow come in and the boyfriends actin up / double dates girl dinner facetimes memes of memories i miss you b whats up

i feel sixteen again –

late night rehearsals,

midnight bonding in quiet shuddering cars,

Santa Fe I, 2018

I arrive in a sad cocoon.

My sister drives me to a restaurant

to meet other lesbian widows.

I listen while picking salad.