Posts by kristineesserslentz

poems, photos, audio

Sexain for Him

shotgun apartment

stand in kitchen

watch Him across

living | work rooms

change bedsheets

our 3x sex last night

this after I made

biscuits and gravy

after previous

thursday canceled

but before our 3

month farewell

He asks if I ever

want children

explain I choose

to leave room

for those who can’t be

taken care of by family

His soft knotted ropes

were easier to answer

with my shoulder dug

into the light leather

couch in front

of pet cam and pet

the king bed is done

so His gf gets respect

He sees my domestic

side is why He asked

you seem like you’d be good

at mothering or … maybe not 



You add lavender to Your bedding

I lie on edge looking at You unfold

You notice My thick plastic glasses

You ask how poor is My vision – I say bad – I take off the spectacles offering them to You

You shake Your head no – You don’t want to get a headache looking through My lenses

I place the frames back on My face

I get up from Your plush mattress

I finish pulling on the fitted sheet


“What is the best and worst sexual experience you’ve had?” was the question prompted by a viral New York Times article stating the 36 questions that can supposedly lead to love in relationships. All of us New York City transplants were out at a bar when this conversation enveloped us: four straight-identifying men, one woman – we’ll call her K – who was currently exploring her sexual identity and married to one of the men, and me—the unabashed bisexual. MORE

Deep in 4’33”

couch conversation

finger silky folds to

establish cravings

cream fill confection

give instructions

check availability

of edible fixings

time to turn on

sense vibration

wait as evening

juices squeeze as

sound exits device

predict to take pics

what angles bring

the most mouth-

wet pleasure

Now, turn off

hand mixer

an extraordinarily intermediate trip

an extraordinarily intermediate trip

become bite size hazy
mist enters along bottom
soft orange pink and blue
but maybe mostly green
more mint green – not neon

sitting still then
starts to glide to
slow – quick space

lie very stationary
feel the ants rise
above the ground
and into hand next
to burned mouth
don’t worry they
won’t hurt right
away – that
takes awhile

close the sockets
that hold eyes in
feel the emotionlessness
vibrate teeth nose knuckles
ya know how pins do
or lines turned to runny –

away! that favorite place
sink below the belt of
upholstery with crispy
leftovers attached to
cotton mouth messes

people hate that
lifeless happiness
ping of codependent
debts circling
some kind of blow
jobs and carjacking

waking up is a bitch. and so is the alaskan cold.
but the money wife and responsibility is pleasant.


my grunts burst into feathers
white candy-striped midnight
gutted throat’s snot pockets
down on Franklin Ave’s stall
try three to four more pounds
of pearls collide with the face
lockjaw leopard swelling liquid
mirror glances to see rim cock
penny drop of course not bills
druggy desserts backed pain
fingerprint goodness fades like
kneecap puns or gloved meat
laced up orphans enjoy spunk
pulsing swarms enter cemetery
waving eye rolls and dark stars

my chronic caress cries barred

What the Hot Spring Brings

A sharp inhale brings in all the cold at once. My mouth welcomes the chill while my lungs protest with piercing twinges of pain. It forces me to slow down my pace, which then forces me to take in my surroundings. I must say, this is not a bad thing.

Every way I look, all I can see is bright snow through the black. At this time of night, it appears that every nearby mountain is wearing a snow coat. Every alp is draped in this untouchable white glitter that wants to say personally hi to you in the moonlight before it is gone by sunrise. I am so glad I get to witness this alone. The silence of the snowflakes falling onto these piles of earth continually tell me to keep moving. The far-off howl of an unidentified mammal reinforces this notion. With one hand on my breast, I quicken my descent on this perfection of risen earth. It’s not too far now until I get to what I consider my peace, the hot spring. MORE


The thing about flying across the country is that the time change never helps you. You’re either tripping backward or forward in hours, exhausted or confused. It was New Year’s Day and I was hungover on a packed airplane going from New York City to Los Angeles to retrieve one of my closest friends, Anna. She was getting a divorce from her husband and needed a road trip buddy for the ride back to our shared home state of Indiana. Trying to be a good friend and being an intense road trip lover, I, of course, said yes.

Anna’s marriage ended for many reasons, but what accelerated the demise was deciding to have an open marriage. I am also in an open marriage, and immediately felt hurt that this was the reason she gave for her marriage’s death. Like many woman with a particularly strict Catholic upbringing, Anna believed that she is only as valuable as the strength of her devotion to her relationship.

Meanwhile, in the bliss of escaping a hangover and gnarly loved ones, I sat as far back as I could in my non-reclining middle seat, to make an attempt at contemplating the events of the previous night’s so-called celebrations. The shitty thing about leaning on my old coping mechanism of drinking heavily to deal with upsetting surroundings is that it led me to not just to foggy memories but gaping grief. READ MORE