73. Tiptoe

Watching him while

he sleeps I

steep myself in the 

tea color of his

skin

vanish in fragile

lashes

hopeless against his

cheek, reappear

stroking long hair off 

a temple

with one of my small fingers.

I memorize the

unusual curve of 

a hip

heft of his dark

testicles

resting promise of

his quiescent 

cock curled

softly.

His sturdy shoulder his

brawny arm draped warm over

me sheltering my 

delicate ribs.

With my weightless

vision I cherish my

lover

astonished,

reverent within all of 

our variances.

51. Just Lust

I could not find enough of him

to satiate lust and sure, every

time I glanced across the table

there were his hungry eyes.

Dios, le cuide.

If my body song ran

harmony to the side show

of words we traded,

if yours wove itself 

in complement, what

meteors we would be.

Dios, nos cuide.

My sweet hungers crave

beyond, lasting with other men

whose love squares

spare moments.