The following is a short prose I am developing for my collection of poetry and short stories entitled “The Third Sermon”. It’s still very rough so feedback would be appreciated.
Smoke can be a wondrous thing . . . Clouds formed into ships above me head . . . On board were my dreams . . . Forever on board sea ships are men’s dreams . . . I took the last pull off of a run down swisha as he undressed . . . His lean, Black torso absorbing the moon light . . . I called him beauty . . . I inhaled his scent, that mix of cologne and musk that all men smell of from time to time . . . He said nothing, just undressed . . . His skin carried the pride of generations of Africans unwilling to be raped out of existence . . . His head, was his crown . . . His lips were full . . . And his hands. . .his hands looked as though they could break earth . . . I wanted them around me. I wanted them to grabbed me, force me into submission . . .He was everything that this wicked world hated. Blackness that absorbed all light, defying anything to challenge his right to be. He walked towards me, inhaling smoke along the way . . . Lay his hands on my waist . . . I stood, in what felt like a forever stance, allowing him to undress me . . . Soon we were both nude . . . Two punks at the foot of Golgotha . . . Trembling before the Christ . . . In the circles of disciples we were no doubt damned . . . The boys on the boulevard would often chase down the faggots and beat them . . . One night a young man lost his life . . . Hands raised, trying to block the blows, crying for relief . . . That’s why we must love in the dark . . . He moved first . . . Swiftly to collarbone as I caressed his shoulders . . . Broad magnificent shoulders . . . He pushed me on the bed . . . I sat up, coming face to face with his manhood . . . I had trouble breathing as I took it in . . . still in the air was that smoke. . . Wondrous ships floating as far as the eyes could stretch . . . truly smoke was like imagination . . . I saw an image of myself standing alone . . . I was smiling and holding a vase . . . I saw my father on the chain gang . . . I saw my mother . . . back bent . . . crying over the kitchen table, counting money . . . In the present, I was now on my back . . . spread across the bed for him . . . His tongue tracing my endings . . . He came up to stare me in the eyes . . . I saw in him the hope of many Black boys lost on the boulevard . . . For him I could provide no more than the comfort of the here and now . . . Tomorrow we would both have to be out in the world were there be dragons . . . I saw the terror . . . I took him in . . . His hardened flesh tearing as entered . . . Pain . . . I wanted it . . . Welcomed it . . . No more in life than this moment, have I ever felt alive . . . connected . . . needed . . . He smiled . . . Thrust . . . smile . . . sweat . . . pant . . . horror . . . ascension . . . Reverse . . . pressure . . . gripping . . . gasping . . . anticipation . . . climax . . . inhale . . . exhale . . . silence . . . sleep . . . Ships at sea harbor men’s dreams . . . I once dreamt of being wanted . . . needed by someone . . . I kept that longing close to me . . . In my younger years I worked hard to create my heterosexual disguise . . . Keeping all desire hidden . . . One morning my mother came home to me masturbating . . . She slapped me and demanded that I attend church every Sunday . . . In school I found solace in the fact that I could acquire a girlfriend . . . She saved me from the daily torment faced by other faggots . . . One night we laid down together . . . I was filled with a terror . . . She called me to her . . . And as I laid in her I felt a nervous tension . . . continuously asking her if I was moving too fast . . . I remember her giggle . . . embarrassed . . . I was never able to satisfy her in the way that women like to be . . I was never truly satisfied either . . . Salt on sheets only gives you so much earthly pleasure . . . True pleasure never came until I found nirvana in Isaiah, who was in the church choir . . . He came to me . . . cried with me . . . In secret was our love affair . . . I remember being in his car watching some of the younger, more bold, boys on the boulevard . . . That night he made me promise that I would never be like them . . . never be a faggot . . . I agreed . . . because he loved me . . . and needed me in the same way that I needed him . . . for survival . . . My mind races trying to imagine his life now . . . Is he happy now? . . . Does he have a wife and kids? . . . When I left town was he sad? . . . Did he even care about my departure? . . . daylight . . . My roommate returned the next day as beauty was leaving . . . Smoke still lingered . . . My roommate asked . . . “who’s that?” . . . I replied . . . “Oh him?” . . . pause . . . “That’s the John who took my last 30 bucks.“