Debauchery, damnation, dyke divorce, and divine delight—from New York hotel room silk to haunted Georgia lake water, these lesbian epistolary poems are letters to lovers, mothers, queer ancestors, and the many selves that you move through when questions of belonging become less interesting than the transit itself between lover to lover, gender to gender, and place to place. From red-lipsticked righteous rage to aubades for the monsters that lurk after love ends, these poems ask: What is identity when the unrecognizable and unnamable are the things that most feel like home? Is domesticity more yearn-worthy if subverted and queered? Is a love poem inevitably also an ode to defying grief? Against a backdrop of the ripe haze of a mean Americana, this book seductively writhes through the becoming of new selves and the realization that love, at its core, is a constantly mutating beast. Thank the devil survival looks so good in red velvet, and thank the more arcane entities that words, like stilettos, are also always weapons.