
Morning Sex
By Eileen G’Sell
photo by Marlene Leppänen on Pexels
I didn’t hear you say Charles De Gaulle and thought you meant the mayor.
It’s true I held your hand like a man. Your fridge, clean as alien
spacecraft, makes me want to mess your mattress. Lie back now while I
pretend to be appalled at the things you think about saying. I love that you
love the name “Lina Bembe”. Please don’t think you can’t break my heart.

Eileen G'Sell is a poet and critic with recent or forthcoming work in The Baffler, Oversound, Fence, DIAGRAM, and Hyperallergic. Her first book, Life After Rugby, was published in 2018; her second book, Francofilaments, will be available from Broken Sleep Books in 2024.