meandering the chorus of his scent, i am lost
between the steeple of his belly
and his mouth

i wander. consuming his pleasure  with teeth,
softly, as though he were a baby bird.


i worship the sunrise in his neck. on all fours,
i pray that the sun sets between us
beautifully. maybe in another life, we

could be a temple of a shared two bodies,
twilight after twilight, upright, hand in hand.

but as it is, tonguing the canyons, the valleys
the napes, and the summits
       his mouth
becomes melody. singing without words
that he will encapsulate me. wholly

much like a tremendous hunter. but gently,
with purpose alight, we surrender. together,

shared steeples above our carnage, heaving.
the doorway to mutual softness   open

All of these were at the Tate;
I know they were, for I took notes:
The plaster cast of an empty space;
View of the Thames with Pleasure Boats.

I know they were (for I took notes)
on open view, but Art? Well, maybe.
View of the Thames with Pleasure Boats;
Mother Feeding Crying Baby

on open view, but Art? Well, maybe.
– unless they take me for a fool.
Mother Feeding Crying Baby;
Man in Orange Shirt, on Stool.

– Unless they take me for a fool,
Damien Hurst and Jackson *******.
Man in Orange Shirt, on Stool,
saying, "What a load of -------s!"

Damien Hurst and Jackson *******;
Couple Drinking at a Bar,
saying, "What a load of -------s,
"A plywood model of a car!"

Couple Drinking at a Bar;
Monet's Waterlilies, and
a plywood model of a car;
fruit decaying on a stand.

Monet's Waterlilies, and
People on an Escalator;
fruit decaying on a stand.
No, skip that one; we'll come back later.

People on an Escalator;
a film of two men standing still.
No, skip that one; we'll come back later.
I'm certain that they'll be there still.

A film of two men standing still;
the plaster cast of an empty space.
I'm certain that they'll be there still.
All of these were at the Tate.

Two
hundred
ways
in Sanskrit
of saying
r a i n b o w
and among that richness one
that would perfectly describe
the magical light that fleetingly
shone from your face as,
tears welling in your eyes,
you turned to me
and smiled.

The heat the sun created in the day
persists indoors into the night. I cannot sleep.
The full moon reflecting the sun's rays, modifying its strength,
now shines more coolly but no less clear,
and I, sitting outside in the silence of the night,
can relax in peace.

Then I catch sight of movement in your window.
You have switched on no light, but are illuminated
by the silvery moonglow, entranced, it seems,
by the quietness, by the peace
that has been brought to the garden.
And I in turn, entranced by your stillness,
your magical calm, can only observe
as you hum your secret to the moon.
Alas, the moment is ended far too soon,
but I'll never forget that lovely, beautiful tune.