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Tag Archives: Michael Caylo-Baradi
It’s the underwear section, once again. Boxers, trunks, and briefs crave for my attention, trapped in shiny boxes waiting to be used and abused by the perennial scent of male body parts: a chemistry of cock odor and crotch sweat. … Continue reading
Finally, the music is out, to promulgate the verdicts of redemption. And so, it’s imperative to undress ourselves now, from dark matters that relegate us to mere humans, trapped in the dress codes of civilization. The mystery of satiation hinges … Continue reading
Join me now in habits conditioned to celebrate the face in mirrors. I need a break from solitary selfies. I need your flawless eyebrows to over-manage mine, or castigate their imperfections with the edicts of style, the calculations of plucking, … Continue reading
I followed the flight of birds trying to take me away from the comforts of a panoramic ocean view. Indeed, the music from Spotify struggles to convert me to last night’s level of cool, while the large painting on the … Continue reading
Sometimes I write about you into a series of lines around a moon, begging for hints that give bathroom mirrors new ways of unmasking fictions on a face. I see your eyes before each period policing me, telling me to hush already, … Continue reading
I’m undressing you again, under the edicts of porn. The conspiracy began a long time ago, reducing us to bare essentials, the way twilights simplify the sun to candlelight weeping for more, on the curves and edges of heat. This … Continue reading