Polite Lover

When I chew gum
I am reminded of
that summer in New York

If you asked my uni,
I was there to research
diasporic Chinese identity
across the city’s Chinatowns

If you asked me,
I was there to sit
in coffee shops, parks,
cathedrals, and museums,
to feel

and to have lots of sex

I am a polite lover,
considerate of my partner’s needs
and hygiene - that summer,
sticks of bodega-bought gum
melted in my pocket
as I prowled the streets of Hell’s Kitchen,
Chelsea, the East Village,
phone eternally flipped on
to Grindr, ready at any moment
to meet

I used to not understand gum,
never felt compelled to chew
aimlessly on something
that loses its flavor
before I’d even learned
to enjoy it

That summer
I got gum,
its miraculous breath-
cleansing powers that wiped
lamb dumplings and nova lox
clean from my breath,
before I climbed up
to walk-ups with views
of brick walls to make love
with strangers

My favorite man lived on 25th,
a Brazilian, tatted and muscled,
who lectured me on the Buddha
and mindfulness
after devouring me

We had slow, sensual sex,
made better by the freshness
of my minty breath

“Your beard is beautiful,
your thighs are beautiful,
your eyes are beautiful,
everything about you
is beautiful”

He loved poppers,
I loved to watch him shiver
while I sucked him

Sometimes we smoked a joint after,
other times he cracked open a Bud Light
that we shared from the can

He had a fetish
for swallowing,
I always let him,
fed him

“You even taste beautiful,”
he’d say, as I kissed his eyelids
and wished him goodnight