“to lay my tongue/ against his most warm cheek/ to hear the sounds of
his always blushing/ my endlessly aware of the temperature of his skin”
boys in a room by jelal huyler
boys in a room iii.
the first boy i ever loved/ was the only boy i ever loved/ only other penis
ever touched/ was the only other pair/ of wanting boy ’s hands/ touched mine
it wasn’t sex/ in case you’re wondering/ i was just/ showing him how to do it
when i finished/ he touched green/ the fledgeling tendrils/ of his soft lipped/ fingers
to the slick-wet spot/ of blue dark i’d/ become beneath the sheet/ then snatched them
back/ behind sky-wide eyes/ / to me/ / it looked like/ disbelief
like he had just witnessed/ /a prayer/ / / work
are not our hands/ on our own good bodies/ prayer?
that night/ i prayed for him/ still not sure
if it was me he didn’t want/ or/ all of the what that could mean?
either way/ nothing more happened/ nothing really/ least not
i think/ / not for him.
for me/ everything in existence/ shifted it’s great buttock/ ever-so-slightly
closer/ to his knee/ his thick-wet/ with solid light/ eyes/ / i
wanted to dive in/ or/ to be diven into/ / still not sure/ / still not sure that
that part/ matters at all/ / / i learned two things that night :
that want is never/ guarantee/ _ of anything/ / and that sometimes
one can know/ inside of a moment/ that the moment will never come again
year or two after this learning/ we never spoke once more/ wasn’t overt
was no final straw/ or call/ no farewell look/ / we just fell out
of each other ’s lives/ an entire childhood
passed/ behind a window/ of very/ deep-tint/ glass
boys in a room ii.
i still dream about it sometimes/ him/ me/ / us/
together in my bedroom after my mother had left us to ourselves
me on the bed/ him on the floorspace we’d arranged into one
looking at each other/ at the tv/ each other again
watching strip poker/ on a gameshow/ type of after midnight delight
one could only find in the mid 90’s/ both of us/ binocular’d to the screen
to our two bodies/ and/ each other’s dancing eyes
i wanted/ so badly/ to taste the inseam of that clavicle
to lay my tongue/ against his most warm cheek/ to hear the sounds of
his always blushing/ my endlessly aware of the temperature of his skin
did i want him?/ / Lord/ / did i want him
did i love him?/ / and what does that make this?
/ a coming out?
boys in a room i.
the room is quiet in that/ kind
of throbbing pulse/ of a way
makes the ear’s ache
a boy in a bed/ a some
thing moving/ neath a sheet
another/ beside him/ watching it in
the television is a microwave turned inside out/ irradiating
their damp-lit eyes/ the air chewable/ and somehow
a very sticky thing/ door is most definitely closed
the whole house/ pressing directly in
and/ around this room/ a question
a steadily/ weightening/ / when?
two boys/ in a bulging stomach/ ’s
heat/ the one/ lonesome/ truth/ here
in this collapsing rendition/ of warm/ wet
light/ the something moving/ beneath a sheet
lets slip/ subtlest/ soft/ breaking calyx
eyes/ / two roving mouths/ and
watching beside him/ watching so close
is a watching so rapt/ it swallows in sounds
the TV/ is very close/ to melting away
the walls gather together
the room becomes the most
recognizable of forgotten
song/s/trokes their ears deepocean
musics of the dying/ of two lone divers standing
transfixed/ on four kisslicked feet/ on some black sand beach
/ outside/ against the chalky/ block-shaped pupils/ of a midnight
sidewalk/ a pair of slit-like mirrors/ reflect/ flickering
such an unearthly
/ hue _
jelal huyler is an oakland, ca. born writer who does not congratulate linear time.
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