How I Finished My Last Two Weeks of Grad School

You told me that once you laid on your living room floor and sobbed,

All the tension of school pouring out of your body like ink,

Telling me this while tattooing my bicep,

Then in a non sequitur, you asked me if I’d been to Sybil’s place,

With me all crushed out and wondering who the hell was Sybil,

You explained she was a retired pro-dom with a rental play-space.


I never cried during my last semester,

But that day I went home,

And googled your name, combined with “leatherdyke”.

Blessing the practicality of my Online Searching class,

I found you in an old issue of Venus Infers,

“Property of San Francisco Public Library” stamped across your hips,

And this is what got me through those last weeks,

Your face turned to one side,

Biting your lower lip in pain and joy,

100 needles piercing your tall rangy body,

It was way better than crying on a hard cold floor,

Alone, I thanked you in ways that made me blush.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
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