Weeping at the Well

     i. Temptatio

Indifferent zones, erogenous errors
     cast off like sinful stones, I crawl you, my love
     the cost of walking fire, desert tongues of soft
     charcoal burning tributaries of seething
     kisses, flowing to it, momentarily
     uninhibited, I aim for your heart, but
     I miss, this desire too much to follow, yet
     I just keep on swallowing your sweat’s truth, that
     this thirst is the driest spell any other
     conjurer could consume, flaming tongues taking
     an alternate route, spewing out of lustful
     volcanic mouths spittle-dripped moans speaking out,
     ‘I think we must have been lovers in a past
     life—in fact, I am certain of it; why else
     would I want you as badly as I now do?’

     ii. Delectatio

Skin wintering its blank eventide in time
     with the moon’s pulsing white, we entangle thighs,
     unlocking from behind vagrant eyes glass tears
     wandering the blacklight of a silent night
     their shattering undermines, compromising
     our faces’ granite integrity as we
     cry out in the wilderness, weeping torrents
     into the same shallow well, each unable
     to tell if it is oblivion’s salt spilled
     into this blinding wound, or if its stinging
     is the echo of angels singing across
     our souls’ divide, stranded as we are tonight,
     on distant shores uncertainty walks along,
     silently stalking solitary shadows
     like a loose, unveiled woman of the city.

     iii. Consentio

Tears panting their dewy pattern swell inside
     this alabaster jar of my ivory
     body, broken as it is under the weight
     of your glance’s heavy irony, wanting
     me in spite of my damage, your perfection
     is a whispered promise dripped into my ears
     like deadly hemlock, a symbolic gesture
     as you grab my beard, and I yours, greeting each
     other like we are philosophers, over
     our honeymoon period, overthinking
     it, wailing at the thought that maybe two men
     should not love, not when lost in the same desert
     where Anthony was tempted, where prayers to god
     and to Sebastian go unheard, such low words
     ignored in a land without wind, where thirst kills.