EVERYONE I KNEW WAS SO ANXIOUS like like the city had struck a match under their skin. His penis was perfect, its hum under my tongue, the texture slow and moody. My rescue geranium in my adult apartment blooming for the first time, pink sparks into the sky, so extravagant. I can’t get over why our bodies were given pleasure, our genitals these extra nerve endings, the plants so flamboyant. Nothing has been easy, the world felt inside our skin. Your life a small thing under the world of billions of lives, of horses their legs made to run for human capital, racing as if there’s anywhere really to go. Drink lemonbalm, drink mint. Make the world open its fist, lick its lacy palm. Becca Shaw Glaser's writing and art is published or forthcoming in The Laurel Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, Birdfeast, The Birds We Piled Loosely, Quaint, and New South, among other publications. Nonfiction work appears with Icarus Project, "Mindful Occupation: Rising Up Without Burning Out" (AK Press), Off Our Backs, and Porn Studies. Nonfiction editor for Salt Hill. Redbexxa@gmail.com. Love yourself; fight for a fairer world.