Lying in bed last night I felt fingers reach in, grabbing. I opened in spite of myself as you clawed me with your fingernails, flattened, panicked. Split throat, iron tongue, white masks ranged overhead, the rings on their fingers scraping me as they reached in to take you.

from my tower we climb, shroud as my veil. We leap on his fae steed

I tell smug Cyclops that I’m as gay as the next mutant, and that all mutants find themselves within battles

Get ready to feel hungry, because the theme for this quarterly roundup is food.