Thursday, December 7, 2017

Beautiful Bottom, Beautiful Shame by Rickey Laurentiis

Beautiful Bottom, Beautiful Shame

The way he writhed
      Beneath the other man
Argued his loneliness,
      But he wasn’t just a blank measure
Waiting to sound;
However much an O

His mouth made,
      He wasn’t just an O—
Thrusting back, up,
      Against what is almost
Like a finger, though
It isn’t, always needing

To be touched
      Like a finger, to be held:
—I’m lonely.
      My waist cinched
Inward like some vintage
Japanese fan, the clever

Blade of my back,
      Working inch-by-inch
Toward a pleasure
      Half mine, the way fire
Wax pleases . . .

What does possession mean?
      No, really. Tell me.
That at this moment
      Someone beside myself can feel
How many times
I shudder?

Asked if I like it,
      I like it, I speak out
Those few syllables, mess myself.
      The point is, I think,
To empty—?
It feels good.

To be two men
      Interlocked in a sentence
Still forming. We
      Danced the dance that says I want you,
Come closer,
Come in me.

No, really, he said
      As a whisper—Boy,
You want to be possessed.
      Because, you see, he’d been removed
From his body then,
Per usual,

His beauty, like a talisman, offered,
His woundedness revealed—


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