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I would call you my angel,
were you not so gendered -
were the wings on you
and not on my heart.
I would call you my baby,
were you not my elder -
were you that self-involved
and far more soft.
I would call you my sweet,
were I green to your taste -
were you not a full range
and all flavours divine.
I would call you no name,
were that not quite so awkward -
were we lovers in mind,
and alone in the world.
I would call forth more nouns,
were they not so exhausted -
were I not wanting verbs
that exhaust with delight.
I would call you much more,
were you not drawing nearer -
were you not on my mouth
and stopping this flow.
January, 1997
Comments: From the April, 1997 issue. Anticipatory lust...
These arms'd take form
that's not yet theirs to take.
These lips'd press mouth
that may not say those words.
These eyes look for signs
that'll not be erected.
This chest against one
that is locked from my heart.
These desires exist
without a rich culture.
These desires disperse
like rocks in the sea.
These desires might intend
to break a stone heart.
These desires'd grow
like a tree through a stone.
These arms leave the form
that they wouldn't take to suffering.
These lips leave the mouth
that's mute to their call.
These eyes look away
to a mountainous plain.
This heart, against reason,
lets pebbles fill veins.
March, 1997
Comments: From the May, 1997 issue. Anticipatory loss...
if I had the wherewithal to reach back
and reverse your temporal terror
I would get your love away from his father's bullet
if I could hold back time
I would hold you and dry your eyes
when he killed him he killed a part of you
and when I stand in your sweet vision
I see love cannibalized
and in my silent rage I await the day
we will avenge our brothers victimized
for man's love of man
August 16, 1993
Comments: From the July, 1997 issue. A poem by someone I care(d)
for...
Of all the things I remember of you
(and, sadly, my recollection is perfect
of imperfection, and irony noted)
I think I shall most recall of all
the gentleness you would display
as you put your arms around my neck
and pressed into me from behind
and loved my nape with teeth and lips.
Of all the things I remember of you
(and I am a most economic lad,
so luxury's forgetting is no choice)
I think I shall most recall of you
the way your arms encircled me
and danced to music we two heard
a brutal, loving, driving melt
that rocked our world and gave us sleep.
Of all the things I remember of you
(and, gripping life by the shortness of heirs,
my memoirs start and end with me)
I think I shall most recall of all
the way your arms pushed my envelope
and sent me away with insufficience
but you are the male I would address
and you, my love, cannot stamp that out.
August, 1997
Comments: From the September, 1997 issue. More anticipation, but sweetly achieved...though the sour is not neglected either...
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