ISSUE: Summer 2019
hovering their mouths
like two men
moments before
they turn on each other
that is how the grass smells
need between boys
I wanted a love like
when they look
so relieved to be touching
so angry it took so long
too easy to rehearse into fragility
as a boy I couldn’t hide
a single soft thing
round with lemon skin
under her shirt
silken folds of fat
the boy thinks
she is a canal for shame
where goodness ends
the scent of new blood
a red scout of longing
through private dimension
the boy tables girlhood
and the sweat is good sweat
a flock of braying gestures
shaving september grains
their cunning hunt
for each other’s touch
two men sparring
over who could end
the other’s suffering first
bliss shame from the body
was I not one of them
disarming a denim ilk
praying his sword would land
amidst my vast acreage
