His hands
waffle mine
smaller, four
digits and a
thumb worm
their way
to mine
His hands
hold cigarettes
and lighters
and knives and
forks they
move from pockets
to mine
My hands
now mirror
hands they’ve
entwined like ivy
serpents.
His hands
waffle mine
smaller, four
digits and a
thumb worm
their way
to mine
His hands
hold cigarettes
and lighters
and knives and
forks they
move from pockets
to mine
My hands
now mirror
hands they’ve
entwined like ivy
serpents.
I moved from Chicago to escape what I left: Annihilation.
I 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
little 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
where 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.
It’s at the water’s edge
that I see you
as the river sees you
a rippling reflection
waves your dense hair
and curls your smile.
It’s at the water’s edge
that I feel you
knee deep in splashing
cool water
breezes produce
gooseflesh.
It’s at the water’s edge
that I lost you
you running away
from us
isolation causes
ripples
His hair
a woody thicket
of brambles
and his eyes
lazy crescents
of chestnut
and his cheekbones
steep summits
of bone
and his jaw
identical triangles
of courage
and his throat
a pillar candle
of flesh
and his chest
a map
of territory.
It’s at the water’s
edge that I saw
your mirror
a rippling
reflection and
it looks
like you
but not.
Its you
as the river
sees you.