Salt-Rimmed Breath on Jazz-Thigh Gospel
by Ryan Stephen Thornton
A maximalist, messy, feral, fruit-dripping gospel of queer excess, chaotic bisexuality, and the sacred act of wanting too much.
This isn't your tidy, tasteful poetry collection. It's a velvet chaise longue confession. A lipstick-stained hymnbook. A Capri Sun incident in a sauna. A glittershot love letter to every body that's ever ached to be seen, touched, worshipped, or just left the hell alone.
Salt-Rimmed Breath on Jazz-Thigh Gospel doesn't arc-it spirals. It shimmers. It struts. These poems throb with horny holiness, grief in highlighter, summer sweat, maximalist yearning, and divine camp nonsense. There are arse metaphors and ghost stories. There's trauma. There's tenderness. There's probably a bisexual in mesh crying in a beer garden-and it might be you.
This is what happens when someone refuses to tone it down.
This is what happens when a poet says yes to every feeling at once.
Features:
Queer embodiment and poetic audacity
The unspoken tenderness of being touched correctly
Full-fat bisexual hunger in high definition
Compliments disguised as confessions
Frantic flirting via fruit metaphors
A postscript delivered while wearing nothing but boots
It's a party, a prayer, a panic attack, a performance.
It's a body writing its way back into itself.
And it's waiting for you.
TW: sex, longing, rejection, internalised shame, unhinged affection, and a heatwave-induced slip hazard.