For some, a simple love is never enough. For the many, however, it’s all they’ll ever need. The words that blow through the open window offer a million different meanings for the same thing. The things I cling to are made of sand. The connections that have shaped my life—the visions that have guided my mind. Shapeless, like a jewel. In the dead of night, my pupils dilate as the cries of a stray cat pinch my cock. As the town shimmers in the distance, my chest rises like a wave. Existing in these waves are moments that brought about change, yet only in still waters will I know myself. Steady. Irregular. Wild like horses. Like whores in heat, trapped in an elevator tumbling to the guts of hell. I taste whiskey. On the rocks. Rocks on a beach. A beach where my teenage self wanders looking for answers that will never come. Still, those waves. Those rocks. From the tiny ones to the big ones, my eyes bulge in awe. Nude limbs. Vaginal lips, spread by fingers skinny like bones. Bones as twigs as sticks on a bonfire, burning through the night, choking the throats of the kids nearby whose only wish is for something to happen. The smoke swirls through the air, clinging to my limbs. It tickles the belly of the moon. It tickles my balls.