The ocean shows the sky his moon
as it erects from the horizon
of his unzipped jeans. The sky stares down its
shaft as the stars harden like cold nipples.
The sky will take the moon into his mouth,
trace the jagged edges of the craters
with his tongue and rub the ripples of the sea.
When the moon is at its peak, the sky will
sink into the sea and fall victim to
its rip currents. A muffled smack
of the waves collapsing onto the shore
will remind the sea why he comes back to him.
The moon goes limp, the sea says he should leave.
As the sun rolls around, he zips up his jeans.
He sips on his beer and takes a bite of his
unlit cigarette. Boys offer to light it for him.
He rejects them until he is drunk enough
to let anyone light him up.
Cool Fag, I only have one question:
what’s it like to be you?
muscles protruding from your tight sleeves,
the outline of your marble cock is the open
arms of Christ the Redeemer.
Cool Fag, what’s it like to be desired?
to be able to stand naked next to David
and have the only difference be
eight inches between your legs?
I offer to light his cigarette.
All art needs a buyer.
“Not interested” he says to me.
He takes a bite of his cigarette
and i leave Him be.