Loving Men-Rodrigo (Shoulders)

shouldersThey span a broad
torso like a trifecta
of mountains: Left,
Center, and Right

The Center Peak
is covered in thick
waves of brown
that swirls like the thick
vapors of Jupiter

The left and right
are twins from afar,
but up close they
are as different
as the eyes or ears or
hands or feet

The oasis of clavicles
adorn the base of
Center. Waterfalls
cascade from the rivers
mouth and through fleshy

The Three Peaks
of the shoulders
stand proud like
the fleshy florets
of broccoli

Loving Men-Rodrigo (Aromas)

sweaterHe wore
a sweater of mine
which holds
his aroma of yesterday.
Warmer today it
harbors his day.
Inhaling the cashmere
I sense chili and cigarettes and

He held
a pillow of mine
which holds
his aroma of last night.
Cooler this morning
it mirrors his night.
Inhaling the cotton|
I sense dreams and sweat and

He covered
himself with me
which holds
our aromas of tomorrow.
Hotter today
it promises our future.
Feeling each other
I know tomorrow and tomorrow and

Loving Men-Rodrigo (Mouth)

beardedHis mouth
is the place
I look
after I look
at his eyes.  His mouth
shapes words; winks; lies
and admits.  His mouth
shields teeth: a pair
of white ivory piano
boards, the top treble
and the bottom bass
cause a voice
of harmony; of angels
and devils; of promises
and lies; of laughter
and agony.
His mouth
is the harbor
for his tongue; laying
softly in the shell
it waits for my lips
to open the compact,
to slowly knock
on his wet lips
teasing them apart and
waiting for the incumbent
to answer my curiosity.
His mouth
is what I look at
when I can no longer
watch the truth
in his eyes.

Loving Men-Rodrigo (Throat)

throatHis throat is long
like an egret’s, elegant
as a bride’s dress,
and sits squarely
atop his torso
like a pillar

His throat meets
his strong jaw, a pair
of triangles
that flair afar
from his pointed
chin which mirrors
the length of his nose.

His throat is lithe
and sinewy and
soft even though
its core is strands
of muscle like garland
wrapped around the Christmas
tree of discs and cartilage.

His throat is a target
for the sky jumper of kisses
which land atop the softness
of his skin.
My kisses, like planted bulbs
drawn down to the pools
of his clavicle.

His throat is my envy.