“you and me goin’ finish this.” he whispered.
his eyes filled with wet wanting and such
and me somewhere half devoured
on shapeless flats
wrapped in him.
and we played.
i mounting he
and the rest.
and i found new gardens to rest myself in when i is weary.
when all i need is to wiggle my toes in soil
let some comfortable feeling settle in
breathe a bit more than a bit
and thats a more mighty thing
finding home in a new lover.
i knew you’d be a nasty motherfucker.
one of the ones you bed
and break up with
only to- be made to suffer through
a river of pleas and insults.
and things not completely turned over being thrown
as violently as our fathers threw fists.
as fast as our mothers covered up our queerness by playing up the need for every child to self express.
as deadly as the silence we fucked in.
I knew my number should have stayed mine.
knew you’d get mad
same as i knew showing interest in your life would get me in your pants.
i knew that we both were being unfair.
Both praying on emotion for ends left unsaid.
we are two Black men.
who are predators of flesh in so many ways
and victims of a nervous condition
perpetrated on us
by a colonial power.
and when speaking, thats how it out to be told.
with truth laying on some part of it.
Illustration by Bruce Nugent
I feel you. Inside. I want you. Inside. Black and bold. I want you. Want to taste your sweat. Feel your fingers trace my spine. Feel them grasp buttocks. Tense and release. impaled while licking collar bone. Suck. And suck. And suck. Until there is nothing left. Nothing left of me. Nothing. All meshing into black night. Only the spirit can hear our moans now.