fall homecoming...
familiar flowers are lounging
limp under pre-winter rain
wrists of smug pansies are seething
as stewed parts beneath soil soaked stains
yards burp with slug 'ish cadavers
from all that past summer grew
the autumn has fallen upon them
iced them with jubilant dew
he moves from the comfort of homesteads
into the wilder environs
toward the site of his breeding
where chains from his youth once confined
he smiles at the sun and its grimace
as it peeks then is shut from the sky
quenching the quick dying rainbow
that tried to pull tears from his eyes
still seasons rejoice in the changing
of vertical stems and wrent leaves
he wanders through fields that have spent him
as he stoops, conquers, horizontally grieves
She sprayed in his face and
told him that the pomegranate seed is an explosion of the goddesses. He laughed
and told her it was just weight and density - viscosity, that sort of thing.
She pouted and accused him of making fun of her. He pulled her softly toward him and whispered “no, I am laughing with happiness at the jubilance of metaphor and how
you use it. It’s beautiful, and so are you.” And then she made fun of his choice
of words and said he talked like a poem and thought like an academic
treatise - then buried her head in his crotch and kissed him there.
As her kisses began to broaden and multiply he thought of her romantic way of attributing everything to the goddesses and
wondered why she couldn’t see that her words were so often like poems as well.
By the time he ejaculated into that beautiful hollow at the base of her neck she
was becoming drowsy and the sensation of his cum hitting her softly didn’t seem to
cause her to stir in the least as she fell slowly into sleep. So he gently placed her head on the pillow and went
into the bathroom to dampen a face cloth with warm water, and then went back to
the bed to wipe her throat. She was gone. In his experience, Angels who slept with primarily gay men were like that - they come and go.
