The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 5 - Page 11

7

Three poems by Travis tate

a champagne spell

in the night, a bearded kween

presses cold champagne

against my throat and it slides

down my insides. it turns me

into a princess. i don’t need a

crown because from

my head grows antlers. they

are brown & strong but so

delicate & so smooth.

in the days, there is an endless

parade of chubby boys with

nice butts & short shorts.

& thighs and hair on those

Thighs & there’s a way they shift

their weight from side to

side. a princess at her throne.

i survey my kingdom of wires

& small electronic screens.

maybe i will find my next lover here

among the sheets of wind

pressed against my face from the

chubby boys with their shorts

in their endless celebration of

me. i think

i can’t be more open

Than i am now.

heart ripped from its ruby

socket, a gaping hole.

the next night, i press my own

throat against the bottle all alone.

the champagne in my stomach

spoils & the bubbles that turned

me royal are now bugs, black and

winged.

(Cont.)