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Oskar Erikson Feb 23
mother
i loved a boy
like you wouldn't have wanted me too.

i've since found
its very sad
to love a man
like the way you do.
Oskar Erikson Feb 23
you placed the tip of your tongue
in the spaces between my teeth
like a criminal
steals their way to safety.

was it for fear that the words spoken earlier
would catch up
and lead you away to read your rights
while I watch.

tapping my incisors, molars
taking count of the refuge you thought
would be offered unconditionally.

the door would have been opened
but for the threat of force
battened down the hatches.
granted, taking this loss
somewhat harder
than expected. couldn't have been the sort of guy who asked for permission
to grieve
it
sort of happens.

i am taking a little breath before the next break so speak now or
forever hold my hand

you were doing so well
so was I
we are falling
without a plan to land
.
forty steps in the town church to spire height.
we ran away                                                                                                    
after communion

watching pigeons roost.

sawdust settled on stained glass.

sat with the stigmata in the pit of me.                                                          

your eyes aloft
to the beams where Christ
laid bare

coveting
the beauty in a man.                                                                                        
and learning
boys wish would it grace them.


       i did not think to ask you if you felt the same                  
        i did not know how.
Oskar Erikson Nov 2020
slighted fingertips
withdrawing from a near-fatal embrace
how does it feel?
to brush precariously
at the edge of something
infinitely beautiful;
to find the void
greeting you instead.

curled at waist height
or tied
to the belt loops of jeans
or smushed into pockets,
balled up
waiting for  another
chance to extend again.

there in the throes of night
unclenching, reclenching fists lay,
wondering

will the next time will be different
and
how will it feel?
Oskar Erikson Oct 2020
body like a Hoplite,
raised from the dust to lay the land-
sent armed
ashen spear and heart,
trunks of armour clad legs
growing into the clay coloured Earth
rooted.

these lyre-heartstrings taut with longing.
to see
a browbeaten Myrmidon,
in daylight.

watch, as the breath of Zeus escapes
Grecian chests,
concave with muscle
Olympus itself exists within those crevices.

i lay offerings,
ambrosia soaked spoken word
at the under-flesh of your calf
laying beside myself
in hope the whispers bestowed to you from the Fates
on the eve of Troy
mean less with your lips, pressed to wine, against mine.
Oskar Erikson Oct 2020
spotify playlists
made for times of sadness,
sometimes bring
sweeter moments,
when listened to
in the sunlight.
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