Men’s eyes can be laughing sparkle,
heavy lidded with hunger or stupor,
dead with rejection,
ghosted with tears,
shaded with guyliner,
or frosted with burning hatred.
All that matters is that they stare
if only momentarily
into my own.
That mind jolt penetrating to the core of inspiration.
That look a month ago –
with listen and spark,
sex and magic –
has yet to be replaced or forgotten.
There are waves
of imaginary men
rolling toward us
with intended potential excitement
but they seem empty,
devoid of spark.
Aaron squared was more
than a somewhat clever joke.
Expanded healing pleasure / honest friendship,
minus the fantasy lies
that fuel countless tear stained orgasms
with an intense burst
of impossible wet dream madness;
a bruising lust which stings
while it drives senses to extremes –
a Cenobite encounter
plagued by hardships
with luscious pleasures
yet to be realized,
yet to curse or release me
through a torturous curative of transformative sex.
My lover’s name twin is sweet
and tempts me with poli-normative affection…
he shames me with his goodness
in the shadowed eclipse of my darkest desires.
His double penetrations are pure spiritual retreats
which offer to halt my advance into the endless abyss
of my deviant sex drenched day dreams.
I still struggle toward the depths
but their darkness seems twice as blinding
after his personal brand of effervescent sparks.
Written by Jason Wright
August 9, 2017
