Head over Heils

Teeth whiter than Nazi porcelain,
     pearls painted degenerate when
     pilfered from another world’s war,
     my tongue steps into your mouth, marching

Far on through your heart’s window on down
     to what straight men all somehow know
     is beyond them: that attraction
     between two men, so long forbidden

But now calling them in. You’re coming
     along—an improvement of an
     ideal, my sacramental man—
     sacred, such that I want nothing more

Than to sate my desert’s driest prayers,
     all of them, and swallow all your
     soldiers. Too far from whom we are,
     my mouth’s wandering occupation

Will make heroes of us yet, singing
     in sweated pants of our clothing
     we shamelessly shed to the floor,
     turning to joy a job’s flame; blowing

Stoic bones down to ash, uncaging
     from its glass your own—freeing for
     the first time, what architecture
     keeps us up all night, laid bare to show

Every seething Jungfrau wanting
     to be eaten, it’s dictators
     we bent gentlemen aspiring
     to husbandry fall for, crawling out

’Our bunkers when we all crave one thing
     to bunk down with, which to women
     no gods gave: that throbbing thing we’re
     head over Heils for—stick it in.