A mystical poem from J.A. Dela Cruz-Smith, celebrating male-male intimacy and touching, in some ways, on the shamanic, the transformative.
—
Two Snakes
There are millions of things I can say to you
But this is it:
A man combed his hair with his fingers.
He reached the angle in his crotch
And months before I’d have cold hands—
All the blood rushed to my parts.
And I’d touch myself standing and bending
Over, wasn’t the music turning my head.
Now you’re in the flesh
& contours so close
My body contorts
To fit yours.
Obscene, odd memories of you,
In black and white and grey,
Your arms and legs split in two,
Ourselves in positions, gay.
Strong, stiff, and spread
As we waltzed
Into a lean, a lip, and lock.
Tease our selves so we tangoed.
We had the skin of snakes,
Wet diamonds, ropes.
***
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