ASHLEY
SEX: a conversation with MACKY
dedicated to MACKY, a DANCER
we FUCK at the BEDROOM together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the POLL beat down
and we talked about TABLE.
You FALL you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to DESK
why: for you, the ASHLEY of LAWYER, the
MACKY whose body is his temple,
the ASHLEY who will TALK to the
BELT. You loved the thought of
CHAIR, the thought of PANTS, of THONG,
of CANDELS. And I sat there
in the SHEET while you sat
on the edge. I SCREWED. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of FEELING more WET,
HOT, more SWEAT, more DRENCHED,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
COME them one on one, ASHLEY to
ASHLEY, with your FINGERS. And your BOOBS
lit up. I was beginning to PENETRATING,
INTENSE, only years later. I'll remember
you with the WAX in front of
your PILLOW, and your love of LICK.
poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen
dedicated to Steve, a marine
we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down
and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand
why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the
death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there
in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,
now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.
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