Someone Elses Lover
He tiptoes up the concrete steps
in stolen tennis shoes.
He sneaks into the orange glow
of my cold apartment.
I can sense it — he is here for sex.
We play video games and tickling
games and pretend to make
small talk while we wrestle,
rubbing deliberately the tender
places of the body that make things
pop and harden. I pull back —
or he does — and I keep thinking
how much he belongs to
somebody else and how much
I dont care. I gently bite at the
veins of his neck as he tries to
continue the video game.
And soon he leaves.
Dear naked one —
smooth and beautiful:
teach me to fuck and love
and bite my ear to show me
that I am doing well.
Your lips are soft and strong
and I need them.
You can do anything to me —
my body is yours.
Caress my tender, virgin parts
and suck rapturously on my
toungue as I slide it into your mouth.
Another On Sex With J.
It must end
You sweet boy
so young and Polish
I enjoy our games
our endless foreplay
You flatter me with your
nibbles and kisses
and your touch
I enjoy each finger
that runs through my hair
that sensual look
of near pain
that pillowy moan
I anticipate your visits
your creeping up stairs
to conduct this romance
this hidden affair
I miss you even as
I close the door
and I am overjoyed as
But oh my sweet
my beauty my child
lets stop here
where our togetherness
will be remembered
so fondly that future
encounters with similar
strangers are measured
against the intensity that
we share here
The fear. Consuming fear and self-denial.
A dream of love – a school-boy fantasy –
crushed by the vise of injustice for self, by
society. I can’t give myself to you if you hide.
Can two people know each other in darkness?
Can a heart survive the cruel coldness
of lonliness? Kiss me (I know it won’t happen)
Dream of me – of us. Kill the fear of damnation.
It is over and you are gone. I always held on
too loosely, never tried hard enough. I needed
your hands, your touch, your morning voice –
soft and honest. I needed plans, and you…
Kiss me again, this time tenderly, and tell me
it is all okay – love me from wherever you are.
More importantly, be my friend – remind me
of who I wanted and who I wanted to be.
Need is dangerous – I still feel you.
At First Sight
Blond hair whisps by,
smelling sweetly of overpriced
shampoo. In an instant, he is gone;
the young man whose name
I didn’t get. The beautiful boy
whom I saw for just a second
and fell deeply in love with.
He disappeared, swallowed up
by the rhythmic crowd, too far
away to reach. My heart is broken.
Our bodies gyrate to the thud
after thud after thud of the brand-new-
by some cookie-cutter drugged up DJ.
Little boys bounce to the rhythm
all around us as we bump together —
he is a tiger (grrr). I want him closer.
A shirt comes off and we rub
one another — I am his.
In another song and a half, he teases —
swooping in and licking my lips gently.
Suddenly, our lips lock in the confusion.
The exchange is long — he tastes
delicious his tongue dances masterfully
in my all too eager mouth. I am alive!
We know. The little boy came here
only to leave a man. I came here to
seduce him. We leave content,
failing in our missions, but with a new
discovery to haunt and excite us.
That night has made me. It is the
only night I’’ve ever known who I am —
who I want — what life means.
Manhattan Cowboy Fantasy Cycle:
Manhattan Cowboy I
My small child part —
(the part that misses
fruity cereal flavored milk)
it does not understand
those feelings of longing.
It sleeps and plays and
A smell wakes me from
childhood. I am lonely.
Leather and old cologne and
sweat. I can feel the
strength of the presence.
The memory and anticipation of
desires — I sigh and wait, knowing
what I’ve never known before.
The part of me which will end
this life knows the answer —
will I get my cowboy? Will
I be swept away? I need it.
The wide hat and tough
boots make sensations creep
through my heart and groin
and eyes — feeling I’ve never known.
The current part of me
is looking — weeding through
thousands. I’m looking
for the beautiful city boy
with bad habits I want to hate
and a permanent scent of leather.
How sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me
I was once was lost
but now I’m found
but now I see.
Lord, deliver my James Dean
Bring him to me — to
take me and overtake me.
I can already feel his body.
Manhattan Cowboy II
The lanky man stands in the doorway —
a cigarette hanging loosely and deliberately
from his pouty lips.
I call his name from behind,
longing for him to be too close to me.
His cigarette flies out to the sidewalk
and I can feel my stomach clench,
knowing he is turning toward me.
Closing in on me, his right hand grabs my arm —
gently; his left arm pulls me forward,
his whole hand spread out on the small of my back.
Our lips touch — mine moistening his —
as we try in a futile attempt to get even closer.
My hands become alive — finding his back.
I cup his head in my palm, my fingers
deeply sunken into his thick hair.
I pull and the passion becomes more intense —
everything is wet and beautiful.
We release and he kisses me softly on the cheek.
He drags his hand across my chest as he passes
me and reclines on the sofa — seductively.
I find a home on the facing chair, content to watch
the angel sleep. Soon, I too am asleep.
it is well
it is well with my soul.
For hours we sleep, finding ourselves eventually
huddled together on the sofa or floor,
locked in a tangle of arms and legs.
We’ll grow old, cherishing these afternoons.
The Lord has delivered.
Manhattan Cowboy III
Ten years ago, my cowboy rode home.
I imagined the sunset and the horse
through the skyscrapers
as the minister gave
a falsely sympathetic eulogy.
The years of bliss had not been tarnished
by the ignorance of others.
Our passion was wild and it sustained us
through every good time and every crisis.
We believed in one another
and on days when I was depressed
over my mother’s death or my failing health,
he’d pick up a bouquet
of the most beautiful red daisies
and we’d spend the evening holding each other,
his masculine force set aside
for the more important task of comforting.
And even in later years —
with his medical nightmares
that sent him from hospital to hospital
with no answers, it was always him
who carried me. The delivered one —
sent to me from the Lord.
My guardian cowboy.
Now it’s my turn to cross over —
to see the other side.
To go to the city beyond death,
where the cowboys stay young,
and the passion is intense,
and where there is only love,
and my sweet will be waiting for me to be called home.
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling
Calling for you and for me
See on the portals he’s waiting and watching
Watching for you and for me.
As the world fades —
anticipation takes over.
I am desperate to be
reunited with my love.