perfume
i put on perfume to call you. i call it perfume
even though i’m a man, and have been
for several years now. you’ll never know
that man who wore drag so well, singing
you’ll never know if you don’t know now
and not really understanding it—
the words, yes, the moon behind them,
no, he didn’t see that, backlit
as he was. that song’s not for kids
anyway. i walk upstairs to meet the old feelings,
shake their hands, mine without rings now, still smaller
than everyone else’s. i know it doesn’t matter
what i’m wearing tonight.
i’m naked, except
for what i never take off.
even though i’m a man, and have been
for several years now. you’ll never know
that man who wore drag so well, singing
you’ll never know if you don’t know now
and not really understanding it—
the words, yes, the moon behind them,
no, he didn’t see that, backlit
as he was. that song’s not for kids
anyway. i walk upstairs to meet the old feelings,
shake their hands, mine without rings now, still smaller
than everyone else’s. i know it doesn’t matter
what i’m wearing tonight.
i’m naked, except
for what i never take off.
Adrian Matias Bell is a queer and trans writer and musician currently working on unceded Musqueam territory. Originally from California, he is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing at the University of British Columbia, where he also edits PRISM International. His work has previously appeared in Winter Tangerine, Qwerty, Dialogist, and Qu. He also makes music as Nightjars.
Beaver Magazine 