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chromato.graphics
chromatographics
@chromato.graphics
42 followers 26 following 32 posts
gay poems @mbbischoff.com
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chromato.graphics
food a girl’s gotta eat, grow big & strong food becomes fuel fired brick oven i have reservations, my seat’s set aside gin martini stirred— small coin of lemon white pressed linens red leather cushions polished steel fixtures scarred marble veins amuse my palate gift from the chef we kindly request: no sharing allowed a girl’s gotta eat, wash away fears enjoy my choices wet lips, appetite taste first with eyes each flavor distinct: salt, grit, acid, burn hungering for it all the first bite builds anticipation of more— a mindless chewing, my posture softens i lick your plate clean it’s been taken care of have i saved any room? no, some other time
December 23, 2025 at 9:16 PM
chromato.graphics
atlantic pacific i often wake three hours before your sunrise calls for a response logbook already soaked with ink we laugh, but even if we could, why constrain our outpourings? one winter day you ask for notes on undersea strings aware of both the timbre and tempo of these songs we start singing together i fall into an evening rhythm talking and yes moaning into the phonograph, my head then swallowed by the brassy cone our voices sound better inside when you open your ears again there’s so much weather to hear : wind and rain and quiet calm that lasts too long and means too much we keep sailing even without a map true, land divides us more than sea, but these two coasts call to us both maybe it’s the sirens or the sounds of wavecrash against the shore — the dangers of unfathomed depths
December 22, 2025 at 11:29 PM
Reposted by chromatographics
mbbischoff.com
honored that one of my poems appears in the new Dykes & Dolls.

pickup a copy in nyc tomorrow or check it out online.

open.substack.com/pub/dykesand...
atlantic pacific i often wake three hours before your sunrise calls for a response logbook already soaked with ink we laugh, but even if we could, why constrain our outporings? one winter day you ask for notes on undersea strings aware of both the timbre and tempo of these songs we start signing together i fall into an evening rhythm talking and yes moaning into the phonograph, my head then swallowed by the brassy cone our voices sound better inside when you open your ears again there’s so much weather to hear : wind and rain and quiet calm that lasts too long and means too much we keep sailing even without a map true, land divides us more than sea, but these two coasts call to us both maybe it’s the sirens or the sounds of wavecrash against the shore — the dangers of unfathomed depths
December 14, 2025 at 9:43 PM
Reposted by chromatographics
chromato.graphics
bioavailable there’s always a question when i come into contact with the substance of you. how much of you can i absorb? when you enter my bloodstream, swim my veins where they lead. the longer your half-life, the more i’ll feel you there, coursing through my core. the closer your shape gets to nature, the better i can fully take you in. drink you or swallow you or let you dissolve under my tongue every day as you transform me with area under your curves. when is my next dose?
August 3, 2025 at 5:03 PM
chromato.graphics
use craving total transformation, identity a disposed wrapper. becoming a vessel for want, glass poured into, overfilled. you haven’t been here lately. something in our combining always begins this reaction: photochemical excited state learning how to spark again— days ago: gel, pumps, bulbs, rattling pill bottles and nerves, black gloves, gold foil, silicone. it’s warmed up enough already. don’t ask or guess—just know. take a part you claim as yours, shape it to your pleasure. use. time stutters; the gears grind forward under prying pressure. repairing hidden mechanisms, counting every beat yourself. disappearing deconstruction: ripped apart by heat and light, shredded into a thousand tiny pieces of steel. shrapnel blast. there is stillness in oblivion, peace made in the darkness. clenched fists, soaked linen. i swear. i won’t move. i can’t.
November 22, 2025 at 3:34 PM
chromato.graphics
AS 21 if you’re hearing this, it’s ‘cause i trust you. there’s a lot of detail, high resolution scans. i take an early flight. nothing good is easy. what am i forgetting? chocolate orange peels. i program on the airplane to distract from humming in my eardrums; an engine whirring to life in my chest. she applies the night before risks her body just for more. she knows she has to see it before i remember my face. jetway’s made of glass, eyes have steel blades. what am i forgetting? 54-inch red shoelace. “do you want to get the fuck out of this airport?” she picks up both bags before i can say a word. she borrows a tapedeck. i hold her knee. is this ok? the postal service can’t ship this in a flat rate box. distance desires ritual we find a matchbook what am i forgetting? ashen coffee. burning. the next thing i know we’re at the terminal. lipstick can stain more than cardboard cups time stopped in total: 14 hours, 28 minutes
November 16, 2025 at 3:23 AM
chromato.graphics
triumph you outfit us in leather armor tie boots tight as heartstrings we dance and breathe as one enter prisms — offset blinking INFORMATION GLADLY GIVEN BUT SAFETY REQUIRES AVOIDING UNNECESSARY CONVERSATION underground, understand a halo grip my thighs below your wings breathe — you ask “you ready?” to leave, to ride, to fly. of course. don’t look down & don’t let go become part of a red machine: a bell, a backpack, a balance gripping tightly, holding loosely i am not afraid to ride with you to glide across rock and sound my pilot is divine, invincible even molded contours promise safety PLEASE HOLD ON SUDDEN STOPS ARE SOMETIMES NECESSARY as we swerve, we synchronize we’re on an island, smiling wide small compared to a lighthouse even smaller against your frame my sister thought she could fall along the same route we travel but i know i fell for you already ache is just what flight feels like
November 5, 2025 at 8:47 PM
chromato.graphics
wrist i clocked the watch once and wished its red hand swept across your face i knew i’d want the date i saw the toy’s hallmark that predates its maker cupid’s bow pointillism it looked best in color i slipped on a staircase tripped on slippery oak fell into a concrete pool cut and bruised joints you caught me there held me—rubbed salt into my fresh wounds to heal and to hurt me a thin black strap is all that holds back the sun when this camera falls it’ll leak light forever three solid bands form an unbroken bracelet brass never gleamed until becoming a label holding mine down against white silk, gray wool, graffiti it’s easy to go deep
October 29, 2025 at 12:43 AM
chromato.graphics
bonfire we spin on turntables gift-wrapped bubbles plotting high treason one query hangs on a hook near my thigh “how do you want to feel?” you produce three words two supple, one sharp relaxed. caregiven. surrender. we better not have another handle’s cold to the touch i hold your hand for warmth fetching a towel and water unfamiliar closet and faucet you aren’t used to this, are you? inside these walls, a forest i lead you down the worn path to a fire blazing at the center it’s just us dancing there— adjust angles, rhyme rhythms dig holes with feet and fingers you haven’t visited in years moonlight in an empty room i’ve never been, but will again draw maps into memory twist silver, pink, and blue the way back is circular
October 7, 2025 at 6:42 PM
chromato.graphics
i’m sorry i bumped into you. i thought you were a mirror. your clear surface showed what they saw of me then. parties are meant for diffusion, but we focused instead. twisting the lens to almost make out what was there. i’m sorry i couldn’t touch you. i thought you were a mirror. i feared leaving greasy prints for everyone to see. museums of mailboxes and phones reveal past and future connections. a present— behind smudged display glass. i’m sorry you didn’t see me waving at you in the city. i thought you were a mirror. you weren’t yet waving back. being gay is hard sometimes. hotel bathrooms get steamy, you can’t always get the right angle before the image blurs. i’m sorry we were interrupted. i thought you were a mirror. i never dreamed anyone would walk through it and shatter the glass. i need to move but i can’t sleep. some things aren’t done yet. i’m hiding from sunrise, from men, under blankets and cardboard towers. i’m sorry i looked so long. i knew you were a mirror, but i couldn’t spot the vanishing point. some reflections distort; yours perfects.
September 25, 2025 at 8:05 PM
chromato.graphics
incision half decade wishes: a leveling out. forbidden kisses the right choice, no doubt central park consult king cole martini review old results discard bikinis photograph the curves archives in high gloss the things i preserve, they’ll surely just toss day before phone calls rage at the system its stops, starts, & stalls need to assist him sleep, holding a heart cleanse every surface wrong name on the chart of course you deserve this wave as the doors close don’t use the “b” word eat eggs as you doze the artwork looks blurred a husband’s phone rings let me inside there treat you like a king hold cups as your care bumpy ride that night late rooftop phone call two beams of bright light never forget fall a week goes by fast managing your pain see yourself at last straight scars and no drain i cry more than you do it hits me deeply this thing that you choose didn’t come cheaply a body transformed like overnight oats years since your plans formed i’ll keep taking notes
September 21, 2025 at 2:35 PM
chromato.graphics
readwrite have you ever had a girl cause engineering just for it, though weeks of design on a one-off built for the thing — to program it on the airplane commit to it: make it perfect, then install it when you get there, show it slowly touch a curved shape feel its edges unarchive it press it with force watch it open, animated every app must have its settings even if they never vary have you ever caused a toy to glow from within white light blinking when you read it you can see it: why it matters, what you’ll put there have you ever caused a thing to strip itself bare kernel panic! this will only take a second, last a lifetime deep within you type it all out hold it down now your domain, name hit the button have you ever felt an object as it’s written becoming yours
September 9, 2025 at 9:09 PM
chromato.graphics
poison black bottle kept just out of reach of those who fear my obsidian liquid a toxicology report: deadly in large doses but taken with care the hurting heals us sure, share a nightcap wince with me in pain we need this to sting no easier, knowing it small sips are sweet deeper drinks, bitter stone fruit can’t mask a burning this intense scared to let you see me like this — red eyes pierce pewter framing you want, no, need to as the spirit fully hits there’s no stopping this drink. the cork is broken now
August 26, 2025 at 2:19 PM
chromato.graphics
steps now please, sit back stretch out your legs relax awhile — furniture begs pull off your boots i’ll kneel below slip off your socks and take it slow bare both your soles flex all ten toes your footstool’s goal: to be repose our arches meet — my back, your curve almost so much i don’t deserve a faint perfume teases my nose the smoothest skin so rarely shows i’ll work them deep with oiled hands their perfect forms each digit fanned red lacquered nails command my eyes and higher heels you’ve made me buy bare, they stay – no decoration focus trained on adoration pressed on my face i’ll kiss you there and lick the base become ensnared kick or trample i’ll take the pain with shoes sampled my body strains pleads for pressure that space between — the greatest pleasure: touch from the queen release the jewels that flood within wetness pools on shining skin
August 21, 2025 at 3:39 AM
chromato.graphics
camcorder twentysomething object built to take a beating— recording blurry scenes to wound cassette tapes. humming with precision opening up when pressed her red button worndown by many careless owners. secondhand machine with new ways of seeing inside freezing a frame when it can’t take this much in… an observation device for triangular dynamics that separate signal and static projecting what is actual. a new lease on life from repairs to its internals, charging, maintenance, & importantly: regular use.
August 17, 2025 at 7:18 PM
chromato.graphics
gender.app pull out my phone tap on the app needs to update… they always do new gradient same icon shape wide colorspace hard to adjust why do we all want to shapeshift? to be seen through filters we make on the G train dark grey sweatshirt black leather boots riding crosstown slider tempts me— drag it slowly no one else stares they just don’t care this is my stop: girl in red dress heels to match her lipstick and tits costume changes inside closets infinite fits incoherence it’s not just me, everyone plays gender’s this game’s in-app purchase micro actions & transactions never enough to fill the space if i’m always searching for it, the right setting, flipping through them will i know when i have nailed it? new release notes: patches the bugs what if i’m stuck inside a loop? keep it running there’s no kill switch
August 16, 2025 at 8:29 PM
chromato.graphics
eigengrau the only way to ignore the sunrise is to close our eyes at daybreak white light pours through delicate curtain lace— an unseen ocean roiling more to see and to say as blue waves beckon, calling toward tomorrow but no matter what we try, there’s no true darkness. light seeps in everywhere the shade we find there feels almost ultraviolet; we see it together, apart in separate beds, rooms on opposed coasts, we conjure the same cosmos this color could be our own. when other lovers see it too, do they know we bathe in it?
August 14, 2025 at 1:30 PM
chromato.graphics
108°C sunny side up eggs cook with sunshine denaturation begs, bonds across time waveformed Q train park date prospects PascalCase names everywhere object polycarbonate layers exposed gold livewire angel of gay prayers film stock, unexpired bumblebee chapstick seeing in rainbows jet turbine fuel drips one port won’t close
August 13, 2025 at 4:02 PM
chromato.graphics
nude back then, i saw your body just on screens— pinpricks of light transferred across the line. soft curves and folds, i felt you in my dreams; those pictures, now, are burned into my mind. and then i touched your silken skin at last, traced these lines with red ink until they dripped, gripped thighs while kissing slow, then hard and fast, embraced to warm the places you had stripped. but now i’m separated from your touch, yearning for the ways we fit, like jigsaw pieces you never need to force too much. despite it all : i’m here. i won’t withdraw. you’re nude before my eyes, no matter where. i’ll drink you up and leave them none to spare.
August 13, 2025 at 4:20 AM
chromato.graphics
a⸺part thin string between us stretching miles connecting our chests tension we can sense tugging twine winding over land we set it aside knotted tight when we’re together the rope uniting us untying now because we’re home we don’t need help to touch when we’re here
August 11, 2025 at 6:47 PM
chromato.graphics
ftl random chance meeting sweater that shimmers parties are fleeting your glances glimmer post selfies in slack our dms vanish a coffee date ask making a plan-ish? calls about lost work texts about gender watching your lil’ smirk my heart grows tender shopping for red skirts sharing a small lunch enjoying my quirks i’m having a hunch… flirting a little to see if it sticks too noncommittal? or does it just click late night at a show we let our legs brush at the bar i chose, you admit your crush a ride to your place the tension growing sharing a small space finally knowing nervously waiting for you to arrive fuck, now we’re dating. we instantly vibe
August 11, 2025 at 2:24 AM
chromato.graphics
t4t i read that things used to be different for us. that we used to hide behind heavy coats, from ourselves. i read that we’d get compared to cigarettes on the street in broad daylight just for walking the wrong way. things are different for us now. not because we are the majority, but because we are not, and we know that. our difference is our value. things changed because seasons did. the old trees that once ruled the forest have fallen, been subsumed into the soil. things changed because our elders fought for us and their enemies dwindled. life is no less complicated here and now. it may be more so. but that complexity, that intricacy, that is part of what makes this worth it. i went on a date yesterday. they had two faces and three names. his lips felt like safety and possibility and becoming. we didn’t need to connect our brains with wires to see. we spoke the same language, we knew the same songs. our bodies united like an antique lock and key, lubricated with the oil of our passion. i want more. no, i need it. all my friends are trans. i broke up with the ones who weren’t. they understood. change is good. the people that don’t get that will never get us. not all change is for the better, but the potential for growth and for flourishing is all we have. the possibility that tomorrow will be a new day with new rules. and that we’ll be here for each other when it arrives. that we’ll nurture the seeds and each other. that we can.
August 9, 2025 at 10:25 PM
chromato.graphics
just use mine he’s wanted one, i think, a while still growing his, it takes its time i wonder: why not just use mine? our parts are modular by design they’re aftermarket optimized hot-swappable and still divine then i’m above and he’s below press into him, extend a loan tell him: touch, like it’s your own he strokes it like a precious gift he must be worried, he’ll miss it the gratitude vibrates his wrist he shakes as need remaps the mind and both our systems intertwine we once mistake his flesh for mine i ask him softly if it was good he nods like i rewound the world we had made what no one could
August 8, 2025 at 5:08 PM
chromato.graphics
poke door opens— am i the fool? gloves snap, now i’m playing my role unstained steel tray cradles your tools you wash me clean, i cede control you sketch small leaves in purple ink i play with you, this is our game when it’s all done, what will they think? art, artist, work— all share a name calmly you ask “ready for stabs?” there’s not a way for me to know is this your temple or your lab? we share one breath, it’s time to go your sword and your eyes penetrate music and pain blanket my brain sometimes we should disregulate questions pour out, blood from a vein hours pass as you make passes pricks turn into private pleasure when we are through, our flesh collapses every mark is made forever
August 7, 2025 at 3:29 PM