Loving Men-Growth

I moved from Chicago to escape what I left: Annihilation.

parisjoidevieI flew to Paris to begin to discover who I really was. I turned my back  on my home, friends and family. I left a 32 year relationship smoldering in embers that once held monogamy, a precious dog, and a loving husband.

Everything was gone.

In Paris I found a lover for three weeks. We were inseparable (unlike now). I saw very beardedlittle of Paris, but saw the generosity of my Parisian. I knew my time was up when our relationship was bordering on burden. My presence was no longer simple. No, the relationship began to dovetail into daily routines. It was becoming burdensome: accommodations, schedules, money.

Everything was gone.

In Charlotte I thought I would find warm weather with sunny skies. I thought I’d be able to penetrate the gay sub-culture, but was sadly mistaken. Charlotte doesn’t have a gay sub-culture. Instead they have thousands of isolated gay men tethered to the social scene by social media apps and a few bars in not-so-desireable parts of town.

Everything was gone.

Until I met Rodrigo. We met on a social app but were intent on being friends. That’s menheadonchestwhere our relationship was tethered. And there it remains, two of us moored together adrift in the non-existent gay sub-culture. But we’ve burrowed down and created our own, fully expressed gay sub-culture. As I write this, Rodrigo is sitting next to me on the sofa, thighs touching, while Rodrigo has laid his head on my shoulder and naps like a friendly feline.

Everything is perfect.

Loving Men-Masterpiece

aadenimHis body is bathed
in cotton; it breathes
through denim
and leather;
blinders for my eyes.

Hands reach
for ivory buttons,
closures against the wind;
fingers dance
on the ivory like a pianist
sliding the ivory through
tight holes.

Unbuttoned, I open the sides
of his shirt unmasking
his chest which now teases
me like a joke;
his chest, taut, firm with a spattering
of hair like paint splashes;
his chest hair moves
as my fingers dance
on his wooded prairie.

Hands move to his snap
and zipper which when tugged
growl as teeth are barred;
teeth which held his
briefs at bay like a police
line: do not cross
it says.

aadenim1I pull away cotton
and denim to expose
flesh upon which my
hands feel hunger
and longing and yearning.

Naked now, I study the frame
and not the painting of cloth
and denim; the frame of flesh
is what I study with devouring

Next will be my mouth
and tongue tasting this