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.
1 comment:
As you can see, the poem has gone through its own re-incarnations.
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