I
noticed it was snowing, dirty snow,
big, fat flakes drifting slowly down.
I
was not surprised, although it wasn’t cold—
such
strange things have been known
to
happen. Now I was dreaming, now
I
was dancing in the snow, head
thrown
back, arms out, hands open
to catch the flakes that floated down,
warm
and soft on my fingers
like soft,
greasy ashes. And now
we were running and screaming. . . .
No. I will not consent to return again,
fooled by a curiosity worse than lewd,
to be sucked through a sweaty pucker into a womb,
then dropped like a collop into the same old trap again—
So many years of limping pain, frustration,
humiliation, bullying, shame—
No, not even if offered as consolation
to race naked in the returning surf, among brothers again—
to bathe, to play, to wrestle... and to love
the beautiful bodies of young men—
No. No. Desire is pain.
