Cotton Xenomorph is a new literary journal produced with the mission to showcase new, and ecstatic art while reducing language of oppression in our community. We are dedicated to uplifting new and established voices while engaging in thoughtful conversation around social justice.

2 Poems: Taint & Fuckboys

by Logan February

Taint

If you want to know how much I remember,
imagine the mental equivalent of a greenstick,

a grape growing so rich that it bursts, staining
everything.

                    After the light bulb in my room blew
out, the light bulb in my best friend's room blew out.

The darkness is flirtatious, following me around.
I am telling the story to myself, but only hearing

fragments, as if I were using tin cans with thin
string tied between them.

                                            Here, a tongue on my ear.
Here, a Hakeem. Here, the green of my unbuttoned

primary school shirt. There, there, child.
                                                                  I love you,

he whispered. I turned all the lights on & nothing
happened. Did nothing happen? I do remember this:

opening my arms to the darkness —
                                                             the only thing

allowed to hold me. My very own flesh memory,
thick as a ripened vine.

 

Fuckboys

          for CJ

Lately, I've been kissing angels full on
the mouth & asking them to keep me
sheltered from God & his good red sky.

The lavish things are always secret: me
with my whole bounty of lies, me from
the underground, eyeing the pristine sunset,

bursts of sweet paprika in the air. Me, with
you, out at night, bathing in the clear
diamonds that fall instead of rain. Is there

a world more blissful than this simple hiding,
where we spin to careful acoustics, where
you are the only executioner. Your warm spring

mouth & all of its thrills, your hands mold
to my hot skin, your heartbeat that knows mine
— my very own firing squad. I fall to ruin,

unraveled around your ankles. I would call you
righteous, but you're not the victim. You're not
the villain either. You're just some exquisite guy.

You, all of my orchids & violets. My ravishing
thing. I find myself wondering which of
God's faces we look to in the middle of delight.


Logan February is a happy-ish Nigerian owl who likes pizza & typewriters. He Is Co-Editor-In-Chief of The Ellis Review, and a book reviewer at Platypus Press' the Wilds. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Bind, Wildness, Glass, Tinderbox, and more. He is the author of the chapbooks, How to Cook a Ghost (Glass Poetry Press, 2017) & Painted Blue With Saltwater (Indolent Books, 2018). Say hello on Instagram & Twitter @loganfebruary

Rose Garden Funeral of Sorts

The light fell in.