Tag: boyfriends

Patroclus

Island child, you cry,
Life-despised, but Fate
Has a cheek softer 
To offer your state.

Raw and flawed, its law
Does slaughter us all
In the end, but grants
Glances ere we fall.

Alas, castaway,
The mast passes on.
The blank horizon
Reminds you what's gone.

Yet a treasure more
Precious invests life,
One you've never seen,
The meaning for strife.

Nothing such as him
Came under your view,
And never has he
Seen glee but in you.

Your own loneliness
No one showed akin
To, his aloofness
The same proof within.

Island abiding
In your sigh; inside
His ear or his heart
Something starts to guide.

You hoped to be close,
But no one approached.
He wasn't enthused
Until you were broached.

His aim was to play
The same game as you
When he saw the face
That paced his heart's cue.

Your deep, sleepless eyes
Leap from their rich seats.
He sees what could grow
From their woe as sweet.

The mystery's thrill
Stills your breath but throws
Your heart into throbs:
He thinks of us—those?

Can you see his need?
Why me? you ponder,
Until the doubts fly
While you both wander.

The forest's courses
You'll tour together;
On roots in the shade
You'll lay at leisure.

The trees' canopy
Reaches down, as leaves
Land within your lap;
Both laugh, both believe.

The classroom after
Hours when Math was done,
He and his guitar
Charming you with strum;

And his royal voice
Rejoicing in song
Is this prince's soul
You hold in your palm.

On the beach where each
Of you fell speechless
Seeing your bodies'
Hypnotic features.

The moon's rays breaking
On waves and on spray,
Each of his contours,
Conjures sparks of gray.

Lain on silver sands,
His pale muscles swell;
And his waist, so slim,
Casts a perfect spell.

For his part, his heart
Starts at your soft, dark
Eyes. Beneath the bright,
Starry night they spark.

Side by side from now
On, at night in bed,
Lying with his face 
Placed right by your head;

At dawn when his yawns
Sing songs while you rise,
He proves with his touch
So much of your eyes.

Blue

I swoon for beauty
So truly human,
The face of a boy
With joy illumined.

Yearning turned away.
My burden, my curse
Lifted as his lips
Slipped into my verse.

Embrace, erase time
Debased. Grace, the theme
Down at our feet, tame
Living as a team.

My truth is in blue,
A youth from an isle.
There, within his eyes,
I finally smile.

Don’t you like to smile?

Don't you like to smile?
You know sometimes it is warranted,
Those times when we can laze a while,
Forget the world's exorbitant 
Amount of stresses and their warring bid
For domination of our psyches.
Slap some nonsense news on my dormant lid,
Tell me a joke to strike ease
Lightly on matchbox nights like these.
Tie a ring of embers around my tongue.
If we're laughing we're using the right keys;
Laughter is how the spirit stays young.
Then, even when we're old, your eyes and lips
Will never cease to make my heart do flips.

Prisoners

It's hard to love a prisoner, I know,
I too was locked away before we met.
The flower shut in a box will still grow,
But not to bloom: its fruit is regret.
I know you can find your freedom yet;
You don't have to change yourself quite so much.
Only give yourself the courage to bet
On your desires without needing to clutch 
Expectations of them. Our kind are such
That define and find our passions in pains
And restrictions; I admit there's a touch
Of attraction to lows, a kink for chains.
If you tie me up, I'll free you for fun.
We're prisoners of what we haven't done.

Would you love me if I were a worm?

"Would you be able to love me still,"
I ask him, "if I were a worm?"
"What do you mean by that, of course I will,"
He says, " I think I'd like you more in turn."
"I'm glad your love for me's so firm,
"But that was not what I was hoping for."
"Then why did you lay it out in such terms?"
"I don't know, I thought the scope would be more
"Assuring me I'm nothing close to a poor,
"Squirming worm," is my confused reply.
"Then you shouldn't give me that open door.
"If you were a worm, it wouldn't change my side:
"Either way you cannot help me escape,
"But I love you in any form or shape."

Come and shake the dust out of your hair

Come and shake the dust out of your hair,
You wallower—even in my dreams—
Take a bit of golden glare
From mine and tie it to the sunbeams
Refracting in your eyepair's blue gleams.
Allow me to rest in your plaintive gaze
While outside the sudden sun shower streams.
Thunder doesn't disrupt the rays,
And sorrow needn't cloud our days.
Light can be produced by sharing a kiss;
Warmth can be fostered together in praise
Of each other's touch and soul-tenderness.
All raindrops splash the shield of our embrace,
My treasure plainly hidden in your face.

Dragon’s Teeth in Theban Soil

My love's an artist whose central goal
Is to conjure a collective around him
Who would unite to make him whole.

Feeling his friends' successes surround him,
He's struck out in many modes,
Resentment growing as silence confounds him.

He missed the decade of steel-clad odes
To vaudevillian death and displays 
Of flame and sparking electric nodes.

But really he wants a legion which stays 
Loyal to something he can hold,
Be it him or some movement ablaze,

He needs something to help unfold 
The riddle of his history.
He needs help, his story's untold.

It's all that he insists to me,
He needs a following but seems barred
From all contact. Is this to be

His life, spent in disregard,
Ignored and obscure, unimportant
And immured in paintings charred

And dumped in some landfill assortment?
I try to tell him, but what do I know,
Attentions are fickle and discordant.

He's sure he'll die with nothing to show,
No idea or accomplishment
To force the world to take a slow,

Long look at his complement
Of nightmare arches and windows,
To see his soul in astonishment.

The myth and magic held within those 
Doors to worlds beyond our own,
He searches despondently for symbols,

Figures which he hopes to clone,
Bridges he would replicate
To make a way from his corner alone.

The moments passing dessicate
The prison cell we'll call his domain.
Who'll succor as we supplicate?

He'd build the mechanical train
Of automata Daedalian;
If no one else, they'd remain.

They would be his daily in-
struments and aides, but could they talk;
Could he discuss the salient 

Values of being as they walk
Together on the river's shore?
They might only tell like a clock.

Of course the interpersonal core
Demands what senses cannot say
Without the heart to give them more.

Conversations gunmetal gray
Sting when brought into the light.
Rather bring him a band to pray

With and feast the sacred rites
Which keep a spirit's wavelength true;
Brothers to make love worth the fight,

A legendary army who
Found strength in war and love alike,
The kind that ancient Thebes once knew:

Lovers poised to fiercely strike
Side by side in phalanxed ranks,
Surviving by the spearhead's spike

And beloveds' shields protecting the flanks
Fate has chosen for them twice,
Earning and giving double thanks.

Nothing since approaches a slice
Of their bond, and yet a fraction,
Even only earnest advice,

Would help to vindicate his actions,
Any step toward a base
Of comrades he can call his faction.

He's still running, still in the chase
For eyes and ears to bring forth hands.
Frantic pursuit. What is this place?

There was only one Sacred Band,
Even the deepest attempt to scour
The world couldn't find that strand

Of bond, which until the final hour
Is ever loving, ever loyal.
Perhaps by bones with magic power

Fruit could flourish from his toil,
Dragon's teeth in Theban soil.