Oh …stay my hand that seeks your palm
forgive my ear that longs to sink
into the pool of your voice
which only music
of the purest tone could bear.
your skin is buttered, vibrant
before the crust of my longing
time is now the blade between
this midnight poem and the resolution
of my lust.
and the chime
is spreading outwards
from the central history
of my desires
satisfaction has not and will never
resolve this boy, this pen, this poem chiming
from you and i
rippling back to 1985
and forward to the next line
all so damned archetypal
consummation being both
mythic and mistaken
i can taste you now
from across the many futures,
your delicious moan
echoes back from yesterday and on
and on my lonely hand
pushes time and lust and memory
out into the waves
setting free the myth
and the mistake
to find me when
the winds of change
have changed
again