It's been awhile. Crit for crit.

Queer sex is like every other kind of sex except, better.

I remember the night she told me
she'd had sex with cis men before
and she'd had sex with cis women before
but she'd never before had sex
with a trans boy
the way I wanted to have sex with her,
I wanted to have sex with her.

I remember feeling lucky
that I was the land her hands
decided they wanted to explore;
I remember how she struggled
with my buttons, hands shaking
before I'd ever even done anything
to make her quiver;
I remember the way the zipper
on her dress baffled me. Her zippers
always baffle me.
And I remember laying there in the wake
of our decision to make our bodies
known, feeling like I'd never
actually been known, and
if it weren't for her mouth showing
me what my body was actually about,
I might never have figured it out.

It took us months to ever slip
under each other's layers,
months of late night conversations,
of reassuring each other that this
was okay, that it was okay
to love the woman who laid
her head down in a bed
somewhere so far away,
that it was okay for her to love me, too.

Queer sex is sometimes really, really hard to do.

And maybe it's all that hard work
that makes it worth putting up
with the awkward fumbles
of unknown bodies and unknown parts,
putting up with the stares of people
who don't think our bodies
ought to touch each other the only
way we know how to show the love
that is in our hearts,
our queer bodies are works of fucking art,
and I will paint rainbows on your skin
with the brushes of my fingertips
until the day you decide you no longer
want to let me in.

I am past the days of going to church
to confess my queer sin--
the only queer confession that will
ever come from these lips again
will come in our bed. When I kiss
your forehead and remind you
that you're the only one
who makes me feel like my body
is nothing to be ashamed of,
like my queer body
is nothing too queer to be loved,
like queerness is something
to be loved.

And at this point, i have had enough
of all the voices that say otherwise,
because I would never exchange
the complexity of queer sex for the
of living a lie.
Been coming back to this for a while, makes me think of all the things I havent experienced, and you talk about this with beautiful clarity. Only thing I will say is that I feel the last stanza is redundant, obvs it wraps things up clearly, but you have already made that point so boldly with earlier narrative like "I wanted to have sex with her." (chills)