makes me think plurality. Maybe I can love you with many selves. Or. I love all the Porgys. Even as a colloquialism: a queering of love as singular. English is a strange language because I loves and He loves are not both grammarly. I loves you, Porgy. Better to ask what man is not, Porgy. The beauty of Nina’s Porgy distorts gravity. Don’t let him take me. The ceiling is in the floor. There is one name I cannot say. Who is now? Beauty, a proposal on refuse. Disposal. Nina’s eyes know a fist too well. Not well enough. Pick one out a lineup.