Sticky is pungent, viscous, alchemical, a laying on of hands. It is a sensorium of beeswax, turpentine, blood, yeast, coconut oil, melted buttercream, Crisco-rubbed into surfaces and crevices of memory, printing presses, diner tabletops, bathroom stalls, births, seductions, lovers. Sticky coaxes one and all to ferment, to open every which way, to give over to the exploration and cravings of Carter Steinmann's "dirty fingers" and capable poetics.
-Rebekah Edwards

Carter Steinmann's poetry doesn't shy away from love's messy and dangerous moments-rather, these poems "ask first / then show no mercy." Their dirty, sticky hands explore the body, breathing its "fermenting sourdough," "bergamot and sawdust," then dare "ask for more." Like a fresh wound-sensitive and seeping, tender and exposed-Steinmann's syntax is hot to the touch and raw. These poems understand desire's spellwork, and refuse to doll-up pleasure; rather, with unabashed candor and an unblinking eye, without fear or apology, we see the carnal as it is. These poems ache. They "drive home too drunk." They "fuck a Vandercook." They stick a dirty finger in your mouth. And it is delicious.
-Flower Conroy

Sticky is both tart and sweet, feminine and masculine, gentle and rough. Steinmann writes, "Women who turn me on / and simultaneously make my heart hurt / where do you come from / how do you do what you do?" This collection of poems demonstrates the act of loving and desiring women. Sticky will leave your heart throbbing and craving more.
-Carina Yun