On Grindr, There’s a Picture of a Body Instead of My Face.

by Ashish Kumar Singh

rayen lazghab

When we were making out, he asked for my name and the promise of anonymity

seemed to dissolve like a deer’s eye in the car’s headlight. Outside, the night

tried to seep through the glass, its wet muzzle pressed tight against the windows.

I remember what my mother once told me about safety, she said do not let yourself

be recognized, if there’s fire, be the smoke. So instead I tell him that my name is so

common I could be anyone’s son or love depending on where your hands touch.

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Ashish Kumar Singh (he/him) is a queer poet from India and a post graduate student of English literature. Other than writing, he reads and sleeps extensively. Previously, his works have appeared — or are forthcoming — in Chestnut Review, 14poems, Mason Jar Press, Native Skin, Tab Journal, Blue Marble Review, Tree And Stone and elsewhere.