FUCKING

I tried to explain it to the skinhead boy

on the street corner...

The boy who's shaved head was the

mirror of mine.

His beauty was rugged & I thought to

myself that Paul would love this guy;

this guy is so naked; so simple; so invitable

that I may just have to fall in love with him...

Though if Paul wanted a taste,

or even a life long fuck,

I would gladly share him.

I guess the boy on the corner brings that

out in people.

I explained how different fucking is now

than when I was just a boy.

How when I was a child it was sinful &

naughty & hot & exciting - though the physical

aspect was like nothing so rich.

How later in life - how the sensations of my body

had changed...

How when the man I loved penetrated me;

that shock of wonder; that injected perculiar

shiver of mystery was both fearful & incredible;

like when you have a great idea & it feels thrust upon you,

for you can't imagine having it on your own.

And then your insides turn into liquid & the thrusting,

boiling, oozing, fucking, machine of loving is all that

there is...

Until after - in the cool spray of endings - when the liquid

is frozen, & hardens, & transforms once more into the wall

that you built years before you knew that you'd even dream

of someone entering.

The bald boy smiled - with black & white eyes bright -

The boy in black boots & leather adornments grabed

my hand & pulled me -

His eyes & his smile pulled me into the fire of the idea

that I could never have alone.