Suicide

My right arm slung python-strong from right to
left, and your neck stretching as you cock your
head to the right and my nose behind your ear in
the scent of you and licking your sweat to the vibration
of your low and purring voice And my knees bent to
align us so my cock can find your asshole
That star I’ve wished upon for decades and
you make those sounds I’ve only heard
in videos you blessed me with that I pored over
like evidence in a trial and stroked myself
not just for physical release but to find you
and find more of you and learn you and
The crook of your neck and your heavy thighs
and your soft blond beard and your tiger’s eyes
and I remember the rise and fall of your belly
as my head lay in your lap and we were children
Boy and not-boy, not-straight, the only thing
black and white between us our races, our skin
The contrast of my thighs against yours and ah ah Oh!
Laughing and knowing that when we finish then
you’ll put on your cock and fuck me into next week
I told you of the book in my heart and how my grandmother
gave me the Word I am much older now, and there
are many more pages and whole chapters are yours
and they have been since you first held me and I
found excuses to touch you to make you laugh and
I have loved you in pain in joy in memory in present
in female body in neither-nor spirit the man in you the
girl in me in war in death in madness in exhaustion
Married partnered divorced promised to others
And your feet bare against the floor have they
been in my mouth yet? Each of your toes and
the nectar of your cunt and thrust and thrust
Yes yes there get it ah then scream like falling
off a cliff because we have.

Alex Jennings is a retired Foreign Service brat living in New Orleans where he writes and edits for antenna.works. He also runs a monthly literary readings series called Dogfish. He is an afternoon person.